


Nowhere, Nowhen

by deadmeatdemon



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: (sorta) - Freeform, Abuse, Eventual Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Orphan Peter Parker, POV Alternating, Past Child Abuse, Peter Parker Acts Like a Spider, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter is a Little Shit, Protective Siblings, Recovery, SHIELD, Separation Anxiety, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Touch-Starved, organic webbing, sibling cuddles!, slow burn fluff, this is a clone-free zone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 108,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21813148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadmeatdemon/pseuds/deadmeatdemon
Summary: The flashing emergency lights reflect menacingly off the red-and-gold armor, and its hands cup its mechanical face as it presses up against the glass, glowing eyes piercing into the room's darkness.He can hear his heartbeat pound in his ears as much as he can feel the ones of his brothers around him. The mech holds out its arm against the glass, the palm of its hand alighting with a blue, glowering eye.This has to be a test, right? Thishasto be! But the funny-looking themed mechs never left the training rooms! Whatisthis?The whine reaches a fever-pitch.And the glass wall of their home shatters.A trio of mysterious, spider-powered teenagers are found living in a genetics lab under New York, and Iron Man has to try to help the kids learn how to live outside a glass box while keeping them out of the government's clutches.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Ben Reilly & Kaine (Spider-Man), Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 356
Kudos: 644





	1. paper dolls in a glass house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! before i say anything, this is a clone-free story, regardless of ben/kaine/jackal's involvement! ❤️
> 
> the 90s called and wanted their clone saga back so i gave it to them. they can keep it. this is a strictly protective sibling house ✌️

Peter taps his fingers against the solid floor of the travel-duct.

Unable to stand up completely in the cramped space, he blows a hard, impatient breath through his nose as he waits for an attending lab tech to open the small metal door in front of him. With how hurried they seemed to get him showered and back in the room, he’s surprised that they’ve left him to shiver away in the cold duct for as long as they have.

Annoyed, he debates going back through where he came from, but when he peeks back over his shoulder, the small door to the washroom is equally, and firmly, shut.

In that moment he hears the familiar sound of the door sliding open, allowing the bright white of the room to spill into the travel-duct, and Peter hurries through before he can be trapped again. He attaches himself to the wall and swings over to a ledge to properly dry off his mop of hair with one of the few blankets there.

“Don’t get all our stuff wet, Pete.”

Peter pokes his head over the ledge and chucks the wet blanket at the boy relaxing under the radiating warmth of the heat lamp below. It misses, landing next to the boy with a muffled splat instead of onto its intended, smirking target.

“It’s not my fault they cut my shower short,” Peter whines, “They practically yanked me out of there!” 

Peter crawls underneath the ledge to cling to its underside, mindful to avoid the hot bulbs that powered the large heat lamp, his standard black shirt falling to his chin. He lowers his voice to a whisper, “It was the same as breakfast, Kaine, they’re either rushing around or forgetting about us. The head nurse didn’t even take my dailies.”

Kaine props himself up on his hands, meeting his smaller brother’s worried stare. “I’m sure its nothing,” he dismisses. “...Maybe Dr. Connors lost his temper again, and they’re trying to help him before us.” 

Dr. Connors. By far Peter’s favorite Doctor in the facility, though that wasn’t saying much if your only competition was Dr. Warren. Connors never poked or prodded at them without warning, or eyed them like prized livestock, and his mere presence didn’t cause an involuntary chill to go up his spine. Connors was also the one person who could truly understand the spiders' situation, being a product of mutation himself, even if any conversation with the Doctor devolved into droning sessions about how dangerous it was for them to leave the facility until properly prepared and trained. 

Peter also thought it was pretty cool that he could turn into a big reptile.

Peter hums, satisfied with Kaine’s suggestion. “Well, I hope that whatever’s happening isn’t going to make dinner late too.”

Peter leaps away from the heat lamp, using a few ropes strewn about the room to reach one of the hideboxes in the middle of the space. Each are filled with plenty of blankets and pillows, and the entrances are high enough off the ground that it would take a ladder for any normal person to reach them. They feel protected, safe. 

He settles on the flat top of their favorite one, swinging his legs over the edge while he scans the room for his other brother. 

He spots Ben down on the floor, idly playing tug-of-war with an off-duty nurse behind the glass, the thick rope passing through a reinforced hole in the barrier. The nurse is struggling, the strain evident on his face as he fights for the rope against his teenage opponent. 

Dr. Warren had said that this sort of interaction was ‘enriching to both employee and Subject’, and despite the doctor’s phrasing, Peter can’t deny it. He often finds himself enjoying watching the nurses and lab techs fall flat on their asses after he suddenly lets go of the rope, or playing tic-tac-toe on the glass with those who are just passing by their room.

Peter lets himself fall back on the roof of the hidebox, content to just rest his eyes until he hears the metallic, grating slide of the long dinner tray emerging from its own hidden door. He lets his mind drift, listening to the low hum of the walls, muffled conversations of nurses passing by the glass, and Ben and Kaine’s steady heartbeats. 

“Ohh, c'mon...” Ben quietly whines from the floor, snapping Peter back from his near-slumber.

Peering over the side, Peter sees that the nurse has stopped playing and is being frantically ushered away by another group of employees. Ben huffs as he watches them leave, jostling the rope in irritation. 

But it isn’t just the lost playmate. Almost immediately there are all sorts of employees rushing back and forth in front of the glass wall. Some carry stacks of papers, some lug computer towers or carry trashcans. A few are running, but most simply hustle from one side to the other, heading into unknown parts of the lab. Ben smooshes his face up against the glass in a vain attempt to see what all the commotion is about, even knocking a little at the thick glass to grab someone's attention, but abruptly straightens up and scoots away as something else makes their way down the corridor.

Peter feels it too, the hairs on his forearms standing on end in anticipation. Kaine, trained to hone in on when his brothers’ react this way, goes stock still as well, watching as the mechs start to file down the corridor.

Huh. These mechs look like actual people, a welcome change to the powerful, ruthless ones in colorful costumes that the spiders are always pitted against, but they nonetheless make Peter's Sense buzz in the way that it does when he's near hot metal. Dangerous if you get too close.

All three spiders watch them march down the corridor, their blank, calm faces contrasting eerily with the stressed expressions on the frenzied employees. A passing lab tech smashes a button on their room's side-panel outside, and the mechs and rush of people alike gradually disappear behind their room’s security doors before they're finally sealed into darkness.

For a while it is just the three of them breathing in the space, unsure of what to do. Is this a test? Is this something else? Dr. Connors sometimes told stories of how he was chased here, underground, for his mutations. That people outside liked to hunt mutants because they were afraid of their power, their abilities. Did those people finally find them? 

Instinctively they group up. Peter and Ben huddle protectively on either side of Kaine on one of the ledges in the room. Kaine's lack of Sense leaves him vulnerable, so he depends on them to warn him of danger. The proximity to his brothers also calms Peter’s nerves a bit, and he leans into Kaine’s warm side as he focuses his hearing.

The silence carries on for what Peter thinks is close to an hour at most, with nothing but the persistent hum of machinery in the walls filtering through. The three spiders have taken to crowding almost on top of one another in one of the higher, safer hideboxes, the space almost too small to comfortably house all three spiders like it used to.

Suddenly, something shakes the walls of the building -- the loud, reverberating boom coming from somewhere outside the spiders’ room. It’s followed by threatening footsteps, powerful enough to be heard past the soundproof security doors.

He goes rigid against Kaine as the security doors slowly rumble open and the red, flashing lights of the corridor start to filter into the darkened room.

A figure stands outside the glass -- a mech, Peter sees. But not just any mech, it's one they’re extremely familiar with. The memories of countless bruises and concussions race through Peter’s mind all in an instant. The flashing emergency lights reflect menacingly off the red-and-gold armor, and its hands cup its mechanical face as it presses up against the glass, glowing eyes piercing into the room's darkness.

He can hear his heartbeat pound in his ears as much as he can feel the ones of his brothers around him. The mech holds out its arm against the glass, the palm of its hand alighting with a blue, glowering eye. 

This has to be a test, right? This _has_ to be! But the funny-looking themed mechs never left the training rooms! What _is_ this?

The whine reaches a fever-pitch.

And the glass wall of their home shatters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOA hello! thanks for reading! This should be my biggest project yet, and I have a pretty thorough outline of where I want to go from here so I hope you'll stick around! ❤️❤️
> 
> Comments/criticisms/questions appreciated! Kudos make the world go 'round! Thanks!!
> 
> [Nowhere, Nowhen spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5U8G1HYDEMVdKOcgKoigBa?si=XpksL-7mT8ORIlfBV2ycnQ)


	2. the siege

Tony spins the pen over his knuckles.

“--and so intel suggests that this particular tech start-up has ties to companies like--”

Spin, spin. He tries to bore holes into the agent in front of him, or set her perfect hair alight with his stare.

“--possible money laundering, but the trail goes through so many different foundations, all fictitious, of course--”

Spin. Try to avoid rapping the ballpoint on the conference table. Spin. Stare.

“--also one probable link to the MGH trade, but that’s--”

Tony takes a deep breath, finally flicking the pen against the table. 

“Something the matter, Stark?”

His eyes drift back over to the presentation, the logo of the dinky little start-up company flickering in the holographic projector. Brochure-like snapshots of the plush, modern interiors cycle by on one side, the stockphoto smiles of happy, hipster employees clashing with the list of criminal activity on the other.

“Possible money laundering, fake companies, plausible drug trade connections,” he lists, “No offense, Hill, but this seems like something that SHIELD, hell, the FBI should handle.” 

Maria Hill, ever the professional, lets the interruption slide in favor of getting through the debrief. Her irritation bleeds through her tone anyways. “If you were listening, Stark, it’s much more than that. There’s money going in, but none coming out. Only the barest amount to workforce and basic utilities and rental fees.” 

Stark raises his hands, gesturing to both her and the two other heroes at the table. “So what? What about that makes it Avengers business?”

“And it’s not just the financial aspects,” she continues, “If our intel is right, the only real product this company has ever been traced to is MGH. It’s a flimsy lead, but one of our pigeons at OsCorp reported that a small sample had been delivered there.”

“Again, so what? So they have the Maggia in their basement buying and selling mutant growth hormone or something, that’s a textbook DEA job if I ever saw one.”

Maria sucks a breath through her teeth. “I’ll reiterate, we suspect it’s something more than that, Stark.”

Well, that’s vague. Tony’s retort lodges in his throat as Sam speaks up from across the conference table. “So...Hydra? AIM?”

Maria Hill is stoic, allowing for Steve to provide his own input. “Hydra wouldn’t be selling it’s supply of MGH, they’d save every bit for their own forces. The same with AIM.”

Vindicated, Stark gestures at Sam and Steve. “ _See?_ It has to be Maggia--”

“ _That being said_ ,” Steve resumes, “I think it’d be good to check it out. Maggia or not, it’s good to show people that we don’t only focus our attention on aliens or world-ending events.”

“Glad one of us is on the same page,” Hill says, packing the presentation away. 

Stark spins around to glare at Steve, but whatever he had to say dies on his tongue. “I...hate when you’re right,” he says instead.

Steve cracks a slight smile. “It’ll take an hour, hour-half at most. I promise.”

* * *

It’s dangerously close to an hour and a half when they finally make their breakthrough. The building is virtually empty; the modern, cushy workspaces eerily void of activity. Tony reluctantly takes mental notes on the interior design as he strolls past. He has to admit, for a simple money laundering-slash-probable mafia base it really is surprisingly fashionable. The SHIELD agents that were inexplicably sent along with them have already vanished somewhere in the building, leaving Steve, Tony, and Sam to start their own sweep of the offices.

They eventually find an employee in the cantina area, either unaware that his friends have deserted the building or simply taking advantage of the situation to get his pick of the exorbitant amount of food still set out in the large room. Either way, he nearly spits out his kombucha when he sees Iron Man and Captain America suddenly appear by his side like malignant ghosts. 

The young employee eagerly and quickly stammers out the information they needed; he often sees people disappear into a first floor broom closet and not come back for hours at a time. Bingo. 

So now here they are, nearly an hour-half into the operation, pushing mops and brooms aside to reveal the secret elevator entryway into the hidden basement.

When the rumbling stops and the doors eventually slide open, the smell of burning paper and electronics suddenly fills the space, overwhelming Tony enough to abruptly flip down his faceplate. 

“Someone’s been busy.” Tony coughs, waving a gauntlet in front of his face in reflex to the smoke still sticky in his lungs. The corridor in front of them stretches in three directions, the smoke hugging the ceiling and staining the white walls with soot. Through the haze, the Iron suit picks up the movement of people and things scurrying around.

Captain America is unfazed, but Tony can hear the slight strain to his voice as he says, “I’ll go left, you see what’s up ahead. Call if you find trouble.”

Tony scoffs, the sound strange as it filters through the suit's modulator. What could any mafia thug or two-bit ponzi schemer do to possibly trouble _Iron Man?_ “Yeah, well, your hour and a half’s up so I expect to be back home and cuddled up to a nice risotto and chardonnay in fifteen, Cap.”

Steve gives him a wave as he jogs away, disappearing as his blue costume is swallowed by the haze.

* * *

The basement is swimming in employees. Most of them are hunkered in rooms that Iron Man busts down with more force than necessary, both his desire to scare these guys straight and his simmering annoyance at this whole operation blending together with every imploding doorframe. 

The employees scatter as soon as he leaves for the next room. He doesn't bother with stopping them, Sam and the NYPD are positioned outside and they are more than capable at rounding up the small fry as they flee the nest. What he’s really after is evidence of the criminal activity that got them on SHIELD’s radar in the first place, then he can get the hell out of here.

But with every passing room, his suspicions shift. He’s never spent much time in a biology lab, being a mechanical engineer and all, but from what he can recall from his hazy memories of college some of these rooms certainly look like one. As he clears another one, he pauses to inspect a busted centrifuge, test tubes crunching under his armored boots. 

He eventually reaches a part where the ceiling stretches higher, the lingering smoke no longer hovering around his temples like some cartoonish representation of a bad mood, allowing the emergency lights to properly wash the walls in a threatening red without impediment. 

A crackle in his ear proceeds Steve’s voice over the comms. “--ony I think I found where they got their MGH supply--” A rumble is heard through their commlink before Steve is cut off with a grunt. 

“You need help?” Stark replies.

“ _Ngh,_ no, he’s just an -- _oof_ \-- an ugly son of a biscuit.”

“Copy.” Tony trusts Steve’s judgement, so he’ll just hurry through this part of the basement before rushing to assist. 

Iron Man rounds the corner and is confronted with a wall of employees protecting a massive door. Er, no -- they _look_ like employees. They don’t react to his appearance other than raising a slew of handguns in his direction.

“Friday, are they...?”

“ _No vitals detected, boss._ ” 

Iron Man quickly dispatches the wall of robots, their simple bullets only glancing off the armor. 

This changes things. The racks of smashed vials and biohazard boxes and centrifuges were one thing but...

“LMDs.” He announces over the comms, cradling the busted braincase of one of the robots in one gauntlet. “They have LMDs.”

Sam’s perplexed voice crackles in his ear, “Life-Model Decoys? You sure?”

“I recognize the design.” He runs a gloved thumb over the scratched-off serial number on the metal skullcap. 

“Aren’t -- _ngh_ \-- those strictly under the control of the government?” Steve comments over a growl in the background.

Stark drops the LMD head, its clatter against the ground getting lost in his rushing thoughts.

With two synchronized repulsor shots, he breaches the massive door the LMDs were guarding. He has to find the boss of this place, hell, any higher-ups. This mission has rapidly started to spin itself out of control, and the quicker Tony finds the answers to the questions he has the better he’ll feel.

The door only opens into another corridor, this one strangely void of any adjacent rooms, and he starts to stomp his way down it. He gets halfway before Friday stops him.

“ _Sir, detecting heartbeats to your immediate left._ ”

He pauses. There’s nothing but white wall to his left. 

“Switch to thermals Fri. How many?”

“ _Three, sir._ ”

Sure enough, three blobs of red and yellow appear in his suit’s thermal vision. They almost look like a single blob with how close these goons are hiding together.

Stark looks over the length of the wall again, and he can’t for the life of him find how the blobs bunkered themselves in there. They must be important people though, if they went through all the trouble at hiding themselves behind a wall of LMDs, a reinforced door, and then a hidden bunker.

_Aha!_ There’s a panel on the far end of the hallway, haphazardly hidden behind an empty file cabinet. The buttons are handily labeled, and he presses the one he needs. 

The wall obediently grumbles to life and steadily splits in two, revealing a...window?

“ _Sir, the heartbeats have elevated. I should advise --_ ”

Tony presses his faceplate up against the glass, trying to peer into the space, but the room is pitch-black. “Hey Fri, let’s give these hotshots a show, yeah?” Iron Man raises his gauntlet up to the glass window.

“ _Sir, I should advise --_ ” The AI insists.

The glass explodes inwards, the resulting cacophony punctuated by Iron Man’s boots crunching over the wreckage. 

“ _Sir --_ ”

“LMDs huh?” Tony calls out into the darkened room, eyeing the blobs of heat in the upper left corner. Huh. There must be a flight of stairs in the room somewhere. “Last time I checked, those bots are about the most regulated thing this side of --”

“ _Sir, I should advise that the heartbeats detected are from juveniles._ ”

Tony stops.

“Wha --”

Something slams into him, hard and fast. It nearly knocks him off balance, and he has to activate the thrusters on his back to keep himself from falling completely on his ass.

He raises a gauntlet to fire a repulsor at the angry blur suddenly scrabbling at his armor, but that is tackled just as swiftly as well, held in an immovable grip away from his body. The same happens to his other arm, and he is effectively held in place as the thing that’s wrapped its legs around his waist starts to rip at his chestplate. 

“What the hell?!” Tony squawks.

The metal of his suit bends and creaks and Tony realizes with sickening dread that it’s making a frantic beeline for his arc reactor. The billionaire can feel the edges of something sharp trying to pry the chestplate off. 

Adrenaline kicks in, and Iron Man activates the thrusters his boots, sending himself and his attackers flying into a wall in order to free an arm. It doesn’t work, one of the things with a deathgrip on one of his wrists only shouts and all three shift themselves so they miss the blow entirely.

Something in his chestplate starts to spit sparks, and red warnings begin to fill up Tony’s HUD.

Luckily, the crash into the wall seems to have dislodged the one on his opposite arm, its grip loosening just enough for him to fire a repulsor off at the thing latched onto his front. 

It’s a hit! It screeches and falls away into the darkness. This sets off the ones at his sides, and they go absolutely ballistic. Iron Man has to fire two more repulsor blasts before their combined and opposing grips can completely tear him in two. He doesn’t think the blasts hit their targets, but the crushing forces around his forearms disappear anyways.

His head snaps to the side as one of them delivers a final, sharp blow to his faceplate, and he watches from the ground as three soupy figures scramble out through the shattered window and retreat into the flashing hallway.

When the world stops spinning, Tony carefully stands up. His chestplate is opened like a tuna can, half of it peeled away from his body and sparking pitifully in the near-darkness. 

“Friday, what the hell was that?” he asks breathlessly, before remembering the more important question. He spins around, giving the dark room a frantic once-over. “Friday, where are the kids?” 

“ _Those were the juveniles in question, sir._ ”

“What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha you thought tony would get to adopt them immediately? we got some hoops to jump through first!
> 
> back to peter pov next chapter!
> 
> happy holidays!


	3. making like a tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the spiderkids escape, and it's kind of a nightmare

The spiders race directionessly down the hall. Well, at least in any direction _away_ from the rogue mech that invaded their home. Their path discernable as every footfall leaves a slippery red smudge on the floor, the glass from the smashed window cutting deep into their bare feet as they fled for their lives from the inhuman robot.

Although, that wasn’t... really true, right? They all sensed it. He sees the uneasy tension in the way that Kaine cradles his bloodied wrists where his stingers had broken through, and in the way Ben repeatedly glances over his shoulder as they run down the hallway, as if he still doesn’t quite believe what had just happened. 

Kaine finally whispers their collective question; “It had a heartbeat.” 

Dr. Warren would be proud. The spiders had done exactly as they were trained to do -- take the arms offline and destroy the blue light at the core of the robot at all costs -- but when Kaine had opened up its chest, instead of the whirring of mechanical parts the frantic heartbeat of someone undeniably _human_ assaulted their senses. 

Peter still doesn’t know what to make of that.

The boys round a corner and Ben catches Peter before he falls, slipping on his own blood.

Aside from the section of hallway that stretches in front of their room, they are woefully unfamiliar with the layout of the lab, mainly travelling to their commonly-used areas (training room, washroom) by means of the small duct-like system that connects directly to their shared home. Anything that required them being led through the hallways usually meant there was something new planned for the day, and new was often scary. 

They pick up their pace as they pass by one of the testing rooms, its door hanging limply on one hinge and the interior smashed, the once-offending machines and trays full of silver tools broken and scattered across the tiled flooring. Peter feels that if he lingers too long at the sight, the mere wreckage of the lab could suddenly force him to fall asleep only to wake up later achy and sore.

“We need to find Dr. Connors,” Ben coughs, lungs aching even as the facility tries its best to filter out the smoke darkening his short blond hair. “Something’s really wrong.”

Kaine lets out a huff, his focus shifted from his wrists to his bruised side where the mech -- no, _man_ \-- had nailed him. “Understatement of the year,” he simply murmurs.

“Dr. Connors would know what’s happening, he would know what to do,” Ben continues. “He would know...He could...”

“Ben!” Kaine snaps at the youngest spider. “That would be helpful if we knew where he was!” 

He stops in the middle of a hallway, his two younger brothers skidding to a halt behind him. The tremble in his voice is evident as he continues, but Peter can only guess if its from true fear or adrenaline. Maybe both, Peter sure feels both. “I don’t know if you haven’t noticed, we haven’t seen anyone! We don’t even know where we’re going!” 

“I don’t know!” Ben warbles. “They wouldn’t just _leave_ us here -- ”

Crunching echoes from down the hall, interrupting their discussion, followed by a prolonged shout. The quick footsteps are heavy, metallic. All three teens spin around to focus on the approaching noise.

It’s the mech. The man. 

Peter can hardly believe it, it’s _calling out to them_ . They almost destroyed it -- _him_. With the state they left him in, they could easily finish the job. Why would he seek them out? 

He’s snapped out of his trance when Kaine roughly tugs him by the upper arm, pointing urgently towards a grated air vent near the ceiling. Oh.

* * *

The vents are significantly smaller than the ones they're used too, and the soot coating the interiors sticks uncomfortably to the spiders’ wounds and skin. Even so, the cramped space feels more natural in Peter's honest opinion.

Peter is the first to see him as he leads the group, Kaine and Ben scooting along behind him respectively, their innate instinct to protect Sense-less Kaine bleeding through even in their panic.

The red emergency lights passing through the grate shine a checkerboard pattern on Peter’s standard black shirt and sweatpants, and the whole vent shudders violently as he approaches.

It’s Dr. Connors! Unfortunately, he’s lizard-ified -- his soft and understanding demeanor hidden by scaly skin and claws. He can’t help but stop and stare, Peter’s never seen his transformed body up close before! 

Dr. Connors cradles a limp arm defensively as he hisses at another figure in the room, a figure in red, white, and blue -- oh, another familiar mech. But by the way this day has played out so far…

Sure enough, the man is panting and bleeding from behind his round shield, slowly circling the hissing Doctor, backing him up against the wall the brothers are concealed in. The Spiders’ training instinctively races through Peter’s head at the sight of the tense, hostile battlestance; _silence,_ _disarm shield, pin down, cause injury to head and neck area._ With help from the Doctor, they could effortlessly overpower the star-chested man and…

The Doctor sniffs the air, turning his head just enough to keep a yellowed eye on both the vent grate and his attacker. His throat rumbles to life, beginning as a growl that slowly morphs into recognizable, grating speech.

“Boyssss…”

It’s in that moment Peter decides that it was infinitely better seeing the transformed Doctor only from a distance. The sound of his guttural speech, the strange noises his tattered clothes make as they slip and catch over raised scales, the long transparent strands of saliva trailing down from sickeningly sharp teeth -- it’s all too much. It’s overwhelming his Sense, which isn’t even registering a threat from the man in blue at all. 

“Boyssss,” the Doctor hisses towards their hidden place in the wall, “Help me.”

Peter places his palms against the grate, torn between following his instincts or obeying a direct order. The order wins out, but it’s a second too late. The star-chested man attacks, tackling Dr. Connors into the wall.

The blow makes a considerable dent in the vent, and Dr. Connors lets out an enraged howl. 

“Go, go, go!” Kaine urges. They start to scramble as fast as possible away from the grate, away from the fight.

Dr. Connors howls again, “Uselessss!”

Peter yelps as the tips of claws pop through the wall, piercing through the steel vent a few inches in front of his nose. The transformed Doctor is focused on them now, the star-chested man utterly forgotten. 

“ _Uselessssss!!_ ” A scaled paw explodes through the vent wall, nearly seizing Ben’s legs in an iron grip. Bits of plaster and thin, lightweight metal mix with the soot in the cramped space. He means to rip them out of the wall!

The sound of claws scraping vainly around the inside of the vent gradually fades as all three Spiders clamber wildly away, scrambling and crawling and climbing blindly through the maze-like ventilation system until they breach into a room unlike any they’ve seen before.

They tumble out of the small vent onto carpeted flooring. Peter bumps his head against one of many sleek white desks as he hurries to his feet, the bleeding cuts on his soles no more than light scratches now.

It’s too bright. Light streams into the large room from floor-to-ceiling windows, forcing his face to twist in hurt as his eyes adjust. Blue sky, massive buildings, and obnoxious billboards soon shift into focus.

“We’re outside,” Peter says. This isn't good. They’ve never been outside. It’s -- It’s too dangerous, swarming with mutant-hunters. Maybe the mechs-turned-men down there were meant to flush them out? They’re sitting ducks now!

Peter pivots on his heel and starts to retreat back to the vent opening, but Kaine blocks him with a strong forearm, stopping him in his tracks.

“What are you doing?” Peter hisses.

“We can’t go back there,” Kaine answers. “You saw what state the place is in, what state _Connors_ is in."

Peter shoves him off, “We can’t be here!” He pushes past his brother and gets halfway into the vent before Kaine suddenly grabs a handful of his shirt and bodily tosses him away from the opening.

Peter rolls to a stop at the foot of a row of desks. “Are you serious?!”

“Listen! The room was busted into, there’s no one in the fucking building anymore, and the only person we knew tried to claw us through a wall!”

“We’re not supposed to be out here!” Peter shouts, “What about home?!”

“Home’s gone, Pete!”

Peter yells, launching himself at Kaine. They go crashing into a couch placed between the rows of desks, toppling over the back and landing hard on the low coffee table. Peter fists a handful of Kaine’s long hair in his hand, yanking roughly. 

“Hey!” Ben gets up from where he was picking the remaining bits of glass out of his heels. “Chill out!”

Kaine flips Peter over, trying to free his hair from his brother’s grip. He painfully twists Peter’s free arm behind his back, the pressure just enough for him to squeal and let go. Peter feels Kaine press the heels of his palms against his back in a disciplined move, meant to remind him with a firm push that he’s at the mercy of his stingers. “It’s gone, Peter!”

Peter thrashes underneath his brother, “Shut up!” They can’t be here, they can’t! They’ll be captured!

Ben hauls Kaine off of Peter by the shoulders, “Stop!”

Kaine lets up, stepping back from Peter, letting his smaller brother flip back over and prop himself up on his elbows. “It’s gone,” the eldest spider repeats, the previous heat gone from his voice. “We’ve been trained, we can survive a few days outside. It’s what we’ve prepared for all our lives.”

Peter blows a hard breath out his nose, bringing his arms up to wrap around his knees.

“We won’t get caught,” Ben quietly adds as he pads over to peer out a massive window. “We look normal. Our mutations aren’t...scaly like Dr. Connors.” He presses harder against the glass. “Wow, there’s a lot of people down there,” he murmurs.

“We’ll come back once things die down a little... and Connors and Warren have had time to regroup,” Kaine says. “Help me with this.”

From behind folded arms, Peter watches him pad over to another window and start to strategically coat it with web.

With help from Ben, the window was soon covered and Kaine delivers a few calculated blows to the window, letting it crack and fall outward. The sticky web muffles the noise and keeps it from shattering into billions of pieces.

Peter shuffles over to his brothers, the sudden chill of the world outside pinking his cheeks.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

Sam completes another loose circle around the building, watching the various NYPD officers and SHIELD grunts rounding up the last of the employees into intimidating paddywagons while he checks for new escapees. The flow of people fleeing the building has slowed to barely a trickle now, and Sam hasn’t had to swoop in for at least a few minutes.

Minutes in which Stark has ceaselessly shouted himself hoarse through their shared commlink. 

Stark’s panting hard and a lot of his words are garbled by static, but at least he’s adamant that he’s not in danger. He practically begs Sam to not to leave his post, and instead keep a sharp lookout for a few kids that somehow slipped past Iron Man.

Falcon huffs a grave laugh and shakes his head. First LMDs, now kids? 

He banks for another go-around, scanning the bottom floor for any rugrats bumbling out of the exits that the employees had streamed out of, when he rounds the corner of a building to see one of the higher floor’s windows busted. It hangs limply outward more like a carpet being dried in the morning air than a sheet of glass.

Curious, he is just starting to swoop in for a better look when he feels his heart drop out the bottom of his stomach. Two small figures launch from the window in quick succession, barely clearing the street below and landing on a neighboring roof. 

“Whoa hey, hey hey _hey_ \--” He dives for a third figure, catching it mid-leap by the back of its black shirt. The blond kid makes a cut-off shriek as the shirt's collar closes around his windpipe, strangling him.

Sam winces, issuing a quick apology and immediately adjusts his grip, hooking a strong arm around the thrashing kid’s waist as he steers as gently as he can to where the kid’s little friends landed.

He’s hovering only a few feet over the rooftop when pain suddenly lances up his arm. Sam can feel sharp teeth pop through his skin where the kid has buried his face in his elbow. Surprised, he loses his firm hold on the kid, and the teeth pull and drag painfully as the kid falls away, leaving two neat puncture wounds that promptly start to well up with fresh blood. 

Falcon claps a hand over his wound. “What the --” He stops as he launches himself out of harm's way when one of the other kids, the one with long hair and a wild look in his eyes, leaps at him. The black, thin protrusions jutting from his wrists screech against the tip of his metal wingsuit, just missing their mark.

Sam falls back a little, giving them space. He opens his mouth to try and talk them down, but belatedly realizes that the long-haired kid is the only one on the roof with him, the other two having vanished into thin air.

The kid puffs a breath, a few long strands of his brown hair billowing outwards in the childish posturing, before he too retreats and disappears over the roof edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone had a good holiday season!
> 
> for stats, even though it'll be explained later obviously, kaine has no spider-sense but does have stingers and venom. peter + ben have spider-senses but venomless short fangs (because who doesn't love a good spidery spider-man?) so sam's lucky that he happened to grab ben! 1/3 chance to snatch a boy that can induce hemotoxic hemorrhaging! those aren't odds i'd be willing to play!


	4. brave new frontier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the kids first steps outside go about as well as you expect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally gonna be split in two, but both parts would've been fairly short so i just smashed em together

The first thing Tony sees as he jogs out of the building is Sam. He’s sitting on the bumper of an open NYPD van, his arm being wrapped in gauze by an attending agent.

“Wow, you look like shit,” Sam observes.

Tony flips his faceplate up and tries to give him the most offended look he can manage at the moment. His eyes are too busy scanning the street for any sign of the kids. 

“Did…?” Sam raises his eyebrows and points to the lizard-man that SHIELD agents are struggling to fit into the back of a superhuman containment vehicle.

“What? Oh, jesus,” Iron Man makes a _‘what the hell is that’_ gesture at a beaten-up Steve who’s busy helping stuff in a scaly tail so they can close the door properly. Rogers only gives a wave and shrugs. “No,” Tony finally answers.

“Okay, well, you look like you’ve been opened like a goddamn can of cat food,” Sam snorts, “You’re not gonna tell me that the kids did that to your sorry ass, are you?”

He snaps his gaze away from the lizard-man, striding closer to Sam. “You said over comm that you saw them. Are they here?” he insists. 

“ _Yeah,_ I saw them, they jumped out a _tenth story window_ ,” he holds up his bandaged arm, tapping at the scarlet seeping through the porous fabric, “Blondie tried to take a chunk out of me.”

“One of them bit you?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing serious though,” Sam leans back as dawning realization passes over his face. He takes a long look over the flayed open, casually sparking chestplate of the Iron Armor. “They really did that to you, huh?” 

Tony runs a hand down his face, his expression more worried than exasperated. He tries again, “Are they here?”

Sam pauses, as if he’s reluctant to continue. “No, I tried to talk to them but as soon as the blond kid chomped his way out of my arms they -- _poof_ \-- disappeared.”

“You let them go?”

“Of course not,” Sam is quick to defend. He taps a finger against his red visors. “I sent Redwing on their tail, I’m watching them scamper around as we speak.”

* * *

Peter’s shirt catches on a chain-link fence as he and his brothers sprint through a narrow alley. He pulls away with a grunt, but the strain it puts on his neck pales in comparison to the already healing bruise that's formed a crescent moon across Ben’s throat.

He tries to not freak out. Peter was completely justified in his fear -- as soon as they left the safety of the building they were attacked! He was right! _He was right!_

“I was right!” Peter wails when Kaine catches up to them and pulls ahead.

They stick to their training as they run for their lives, keeping low and sticking together. Web-swinging would be faster, yes, but it would invariably attract more attention. The most they allow themselves is using their webs to sling shot them forward when they come across a particularly debris-free path.

They stay away from any sort of human activity, not that there was much around to avoid aside from a few crowds on the sidewalk they push past when rushing for the next secluded alley. 

Leaping through plastic curtains into an unfinished building, Peter’s Sense flares in his head.

“ _Left!_ ” Ben and Peter shout in unison. All three change course just as the ground to their right is pelted with a flurry of bullets, throwing dust into the air.

“ _Right!_ ” Another round cuts off their escape route, herding them back towards the exit. 

Staying grounded now dangerous, the kids jump upwards onto the exposed skeleton of the building, ascending as fast as they can away from the loathsome familiar hum of a drone.

The drone stubbornly follows, firing off a few more rounds into the metal girders. None of the shots have been anywhere close to the three, so they must want them alive for whatever twisted reason. 

Peter’s panicked mind drifts to the lab. Is Dr. Connors okay? Had they decided he was too troublesome of a mutant and killed the Doctor? And Dr. Warren, although not the nicest man, he must be worried about his favorite subjects, have the mech-turned-men invaders hurt him as well? 

While gripping the cold metal of an electrical pipe and launching upwards to the next one, all Peter wishes is that this day never happened. That he was still in the room with his brothers, waiting on a training session that’s immediately followed by a warm dinner and a well-deserved nap under the heat lamp until an attending lab tech turns out the lights. Safe, warm, happy. 

His reminiscing is cut short when his Sense blares in his skull again. 

“ _Down!_ ” 

Ben and Peter immediately drop to a lower beam. When had the drone gotten above them? Kaine, at a natural disadvantage, reacts just a millisecond too late.

Kaine yelps as the drone fires a grappling cuff, locking a metal band around his ankle. The eldest spider is thrown off-balance, flipped upside down and dangling by the leg in midair. A quick webshot to a neighboring beam keeps the drone from hoisting him away. 

When the drone sees that Kaine isn’t going anywhere, it seems to understand that the spiders suddenly have it right where they want it because Kaine’s ankle is swiftly released. Before it can fly out of striking distance, however, Ben and Peter are already on top of it, webbing it to a scaffold. 

It beeps and hums in protest, activating thrusters in a lame attempt to free itself of the spider web that has it suspended between the metal poles. After the drone is sufficiently secure, all three brothers land on the scaffolding with a resounding _clang_. 

There’s a heavy pause as the drone’s camera eye swivels between them. Peter reaches a curious finger out to tap at it, then shifts a little to get a better look at its restrained wings. It’s...a really nice piece of machinery. The flying hunks of metal they’re used to fighting were never this sleek, as they were constantly being repaired after each sparring match. 

But being a pretty sweet drone doesn’t save it from being treated like one.

Sticking his feet to the pole, Peter balances himself as he gets a good grip on the drone and cleanly snaps a wing off. The eye swivels frantically between them as Kaine reaches over and does the same for the opposite.

Then they’re off. They leave the drone where its suspended, hoping that whoever sent it after them gets the message. 

They won’t go down without a fight.

* * *

Peter doesn’t know how long they’ve been running. Only that they’re finally stopped by a big expanse of water, and that the once blue sky has darkened to a nice purple-red. His heels send shockwaves of pain with every step as they finally come to rest at a railing overlooking the water. 

Peter peers over to look at his soupy reflection on the water’s surface. He absently notes he doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen himself in a mirror.

It’s getting colder. Ben, whose shirt ripped during his encounter with the birdman, starts to shiver more with each passing hour. They do their best to rinse off the soot and dust from their skin in a nearby fountain without making themselves any colder. Kaine helps Ben wipe away the remaining dried blood smearing his cheek.

Unsure of their next steps but sure that they aren’t being pursued any more at the moment, they start to wander. After following the water’s edge a bit they stumble onto a quiet pavillion just as the sun disappears over the horizon, plunging them into comfortable darkness. The only people around are clustered around the window of a large food truck. 

The smell of cooking meat makes Peter’s suddenly remember how hungry he is, but they don’t walk up to the window where gyros and tortillas and sweet drinks are being passed to awaiting hands. The brothers are instead drawn to the patio heaters beside the truck, placed so that people could enjoy their meal in the cool evening air. 

Ben and Kaine busy themselves flipping through a flimsy map they found while Peter stares up past the metal top of the patio heater into the night sky. 

It’s black, Peter notes. Not the dark grey that the white walls of their home became after light’s out, their enhanced vision never allowing them to be completely blind in the darkness. It’s the rich black he always envisioned the night to be, the same color of their matching shirts and sweatpants. Though without stars the picture feels... unsatisfying. 

They huddle together under the lamp until the crowd thins out and it’s just them and their map and the food truck.

Someone leans out of the truck’s window and calls to them, “Hey, buy something or go home, kids!” 

They're wholly ignored. Kaine continues to fiddle with the map.

The food truck shakes as someone steps out, and a stout lady comes to face them under the patio heater, wiping her hands on a grease-stained apron. “Oh!” She stops almost immediately, but not due to Kaine’s glare, daring her to keep approaching. Her dark eyes instead dart to their bare feet and shivering demeanors. 

She vanishes again into the food truck, reappearing with a few gyros wrapped in checkerboard paper. 

“Do... you boys have somewhere to go?” she asks. She holds the gyros out to them, but they don’t dare take the presented food.

She seems disappointed when they don’t react, and after a few awkward moments she fishes a device out of her apron pocket and taps away at its screen. Kaine tenses, but Peter gives his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“There’s…There’s a youth shelter a few blocks west of here,” she begins. “...Do you want me to walk you three there?”

Peter doesn’t know what a youth shelter is and he doesn’t care to find out. He gives a tight-lipped smile at the woman and says, “No thank you ma’am, we can get there ourselves. Thanks.”

The woman’s brow creases as they stride away into the city. Peter tries not to let his gaze linger on the steaming gyros.

* * *

They eventually find a secluded alley to hide in for the night, curling up together under a vent that’s steadily blowing out lukewarm air into the night. Ben takes first watch, and Peter, exhausted, tries to get comfortable against his shoulder.

It’s easily the most uncomfortable sleep Peter has ever had.

* * *

A deep grumbling noise wakes him hours later. 

He blinks into the world as another growl sounds from underneath his ear. He lifts his head off of Ben’s stomach and rubs at his eyelids.

“Sorry. Kaine said to let you sleep a little longer,” Ben whispers. Said brother is already awake, combing a hand through his long hair, trying to untangle the knots that formed in the middle of the night.

Oh right. They’re outside. The feeling of coarse pavement and the icky liquid that has soaked into his pant leg overnight punctuate that _no_ , yesterday was _not_ just some horrible nightmare.

“We need to keep moving. We shouldn’t try to get back to the lab for another day or two, I think.” Kaine muses, standing up and brushing dirt off himself.

“Dr. Warren doesn’t like it when we dilly-dally, though…” Ben offers. “What if he’s already there when we get back? He might punish us.”

Peter recalls the events of the previous day. The shattering of their glass wall, the smashed rooms they ran past, the piles of destroyed equipment. The transformed Dr. Connors fighting the star-chested man. The smell of burning paper.

“I somehow doubt he’d be there already,” Peter comments.

“Mm,” Kaine nods solemnly.

A few seconds of heavy silence pass until Ben’s stomach growls again. 

Kaine huffs, helping his brothers to their feet. “First things first. Let’s find breakfast.”

* * *

Food was something they never had to worry about, Peter contemplates as they walk. Their meals were always just handed to them, always on a timely basis, with a healthy, variable diet that aligned with their training. It was mostly smoothies, nurses always joked about them being calorie black holes and smoothies were apparently the most efficient way to give them their daily nutrients without the lab going totally bankrupt due to food costs alone. 

In all honesty, they’re not really sure _where_ to go to get a meal outside of the lab.

The first thing they try is to head for the places labeled with a big fork and spoon icon on their handy map. Unfortunately, that seems to be everyone else’s idea, too. Every location is swarming with people bustling in and out or lingering around in outdoor seating. The crowds make the ghost of Peter’s Sense hum waringly.

They debate going back to the food truck from last night, but retracing their steps could be a fatal mistake if the people who invaded the lab are still gunning for them.

It’s a little past noon when they’re back to wandering aimlessly through a more residential part of the city. The spiders pass through small crowds largely overlooked, save for a few people that try to stop them like the food truck woman from the night before, though a flash of teeth and an angry glare is enough to make those people let them go on their way.

They’re strolling past a row of quaint homes when the spiders smell something wafting over the quiet street. It smells smoky and slightly spicy. It’s not coming from a street vendor, the block is nearly void of people as it is, but instead from a small window in a nearby building.

Peter can’t help but stop and follow the scent. It leads him to a cracked window of a dilapidated building, its state of disrepair identical to the apartments around it. 

Ben and Kaine keep a lookout as Peter peers into the residence. “Empty.” It’s a mess inside, really. There are couch cushions thrown all over the place, trash piled high on the floor, and he can count more kitchen cabinets without doors than ones with them. 

The source of their current fixation is smoking in the kitchen. Something is burning in a machine in the corner, somehow forgotten by the absentee resident. 

Well, if _they_ aren’t going to eat it…

Ben takes hold of the doorknob to the apartment and firmly pushes it open, the lock splintering the wood of the door frame. It takes a second to figure out how the smoking box works, but soon they’ve found their prize: a plate of burritos. 

Those are gone in a flash, Peter just barely losing his fingers in the frenzy.

Still hungry, they slowly turn their attentions to the cupboards…

* * *

The mercenary hesitates before the propped open door of the apartment. He visibly deflates when he sees the lock has been broken. _Really?_ _Should’ve gotten a safehouse in Soho! At least then he wouldn't have to walk clear to the other side of town for a decent hot sauce!_

He palms his gun holsters and rolls his shoulders before complaining, “Fraaaankie! I thought we agreed it was _my_ month to use this safehouse!”

He nudges it open and takes a step inside. “Now get your _Death Wish_ coattail-riding ass out of my sweet bachelor pad before I --”

The last thing Deadpool feels is two knives piercing his ribcage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its time to d-d-deadpool!
> 
> hope everyone had a happy new year! i have a good feeling about 2020 dunno about you! i got into a class at the the utk body farm this year and im way past nervous about it so...wish me luck on that i guess lol! *sweats*


	5. creeps and weirdos

A low groan nearly startles Peter off of the kitchen counter. He quickly snags the last package of sweets from the cupboard shelf and spins around toward the pained noise.

The man in red is stirring from his position against the farthest wall. His head lolls from side to side, and he starts to speak in slurred fashion, “Hooo… wha’ a _rush_ …” 

The red man attempts to sit up or wiggle, but he’s liberally glued to the dated wallpaper of the apartment. “Whaaaa?” He wiggles his fingers from where they are fastened to the floor. “Huh.” He flinches hard when he finally notices Kaine peering down at him from across the room. “Oh, jesus--!”

“You’re a mutant,” Kaine states.

The red man coughs, “Yeah?”

“I drove my stingers through your heart.”

The red man nods, voice straining, “Uh-huh, popped it like an overripe grapefruit, you did.”

Kaine cocks his head to the side. “Who are you?”

“Deadpool, kid. Should I even ask what the hell all this white stuff is?” He struggles at his bindings. 

“If you try to get free I’ll... cut your liver out,” Kaine says, stumbling over the threat. Peter raises his eyebrows at Ben and takes a big bite of donut. 

“Ha! Okay.”

Deadpool suddenly has an arm free, a tiny knife wedged between his fingers, and reaches over to free his other arm. Kaine instantaneously webs his free arm to his chest and expertly confiscates the tiny knife and flings it with the rest of his weapons in a single fluid snap of his wrist. 

“ _Whoa!”_ Deadpool gapes in amazement, not at all terrified of Kaine stomping towards him, “Not normal hooligans! Not normal hooligans at all!” He seems almost giddy, even when Kaine drives a brutal punch across his face. 

Peter cringes when he can hear the man’s facial bones scrape together as he continues to speak, “Whew! Strong! Can all three of you do that? The white stuff? The silly string? Now your comment about stingers makes sense! I thought you were just a twisted Hobbit fanboy!” 

Kaine is visibly disturbed by the man’s demeanor. He hesitates to punch him again, his fist just suspended in the air around Deadpool’s temple. After a pause, he turns to stare the spider down, the man’s aloof attitude replaced with something infinitely more hostile. Ben and Peter stop munching away at the sudden shift in atmosphere.

“You gonna gut me now, big boy?” Deadpool hisses, lowly.

Kaine growls and his stingers pop out to hover around Deadpool’s neck. The man doesn’t flinch, like he’s been in this position hundreds, maybe thousands of times. The stingers start to faintly tremble. Fresh blood from his wrists trickles slowly down to the blade tips.

The eldest spider eventually relents, retreating back over to the safety of the kitchen. “Creep.” He snags a soda off the table and jumps up to sit on the kitchen counter. 

Just like that, the aloofness is back. Just what is this guy?

“Ohh, that hurts. Not really. Sticks and stones, you know.” Deadpool thumps his head against the wall. “So, can I know why a few silly-stringy, stingy-stingy kids have broken into my sweet, sweet apartment and eating all my food? Because it’s a few weeks late for the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future to visit and I’ve been extra nice to the needy this year.”

“We’re on the run. Mutant hunters,” Ben answers while opening the fridge and rummaging through what’s left. He retrieves a few pieces of fruit and a cardboard box filled with rice, distributing it evenly with his brothers.

“Mutant hunters?” Deadpool echoes, perplexed.

Peter goes to perch on a couch cushion on the floor, facing the restrained Deadpool and takes a bite of fruit. “They broke into our home and tried to capture us. We’re here because we’re hungry.”

Deadpool hums. “Uh, okay. So you’re mutants?”

“Mm-hmm,” Ben confirms.

“And you were chased out of your home by...mutant hunters.” Deadpool draws the word out like he hasn’t heard of such a thing.

Peter feels he and his brothers’ hesitation. _Were_ they mutant hunters? They had to be, there’s no other reason to attack the spiders or Dr. Connors or... There’s just no other explanation.

“Weirdo kids...without a home…” Deadpool seems to be thinking hard, occasionally squirming in his bindings. 

Peter watches the strange man and goes back to nibbling away at the fruit, trying to make the last of the apartment’s meager food supply last as long as it can.

Deadpool finally stills. “Uhh, I think I know a place that could help you. But I need to call them, did you kids take my burner --”

“I smashed it,” Kaine says.

Deadpool hangs his head over his chest. “Cool. Awesome.” He goes back to squirming. “Anyways, if I can get a hold of them, they’ll take good care of you. You have the dress code down already! They _looove_ the cult-like matching outfit thing -- all you kids need is a big honkin’ X slapped on your chests and you’d fit right in!” 

Peter straightens when the man’s white eyes lock with his own. “But I need a phone, obviously. Are you kids still hungry?”

Peter tilts his head. “Sure?” 

“Great!” Deadpool wriggles more in his bindings, enough so that it doesn’t look like simple fidgeting anymore. “Do you trust me?”

Peter shakes his head.

“Too bad!” Deadpool’s instantaneously free of the webbing -- thanks to _another_ tiny knife -- belatedly shouting, “Don’t freak out!”

It’s a flurry of movement in the kitchen. Pots and pans clatter to the ground as Peter and Kaine scramble behind the couch, and Ben essentially flips a chair or two following his brothers to the only substantial cover in the room.

“Don’t freak out!”

Peter webs the crazy man’s feet to the floor. 

Deadpool flings the small knife away and waves his hands like he’s coaxing wild animals, “Hey, hey! It’s okay!”

Peter and Ben take up a battle stance, flanking Kaine on both sides. They puff up like angry cats from behind the dingy couch.

“You said you were hungry! I’ll take you to a place where you can get some more food!” He lays one of his gloved hands across his chest and holds three fingers up with the other, then says, “Mutant’s honor.”

“Mutant’s honor?” Ben asks.

“Yeah!” The man squats down, resting his elbows on his knees. “Uh...we mutants gotta stick together, you know?”

Kaine glances between his two brothers in a silent question. Peter shakes his head, his Sense is quiet; Deadpool means them no immediate harm, at least. And aside from Dr. Connors, this guy’s the only other adult mutant they’ve ever met! Deadpool has to be doing _something_ right to keep himself out of the hands of those who fear him for this long.

Peter hums, and after a tense pause, he says, “Okay, we’ll...trust you.” Kaine makes an offended noise, but Peter ignores it.

The mask’s white eyes blow wide for a second, as if Deadpool is surprised they agreed so easily. “Great!” Deadpool stands up and tries to shuffle his feet unsuccessfully. “Now cut me free, mini-Shelobs, and let’s get you some greasy-ass grub.”

Once freeing Deadpool, the adult mutant leads them on a meandering walk through backstreets and alleyways to a place that smells arguably worse than the man’s apartment. 

The stench only gets worse when Deadpool opens the door and allows them to step in, shutting out the last vestiges of the day behind them. The place is crawling with burly, intimidating men that send strange glances their way as Deadpool takes the lead into the establishment.

As they round the corner, a scraggly-looking man in glasses jolts from where he was leaning behind the bar. “Wade, no! No. No kids.” He points to the door they came from. “They wait outside.”

Deadpool, _Wade_ , mock whines. “Awh, that’s heartless, Weasel. I thought this was a family friendly establishment?”

“It’s not. Never has been -- what do you think this place is, dumbass?”

Deadpool nudges them over to the barstools anyways, “I need your nastiest bar food. Chicken nuggets, nachos, whatever. These cuties --” He squishes Ben’s cheeks for emphasis, eliciting a swift kick in the shin from the youngest spider. “-- _ow,_ are oh-so hungry.” 

Weasel remains unimpressed. “We don’t _have_ bar food. Also I think your kids hate you.”

Deadpool makes a thoughtful sound before walking further down the bar and hopping over it. “Then make them a few blowjobs! Easy on the kahlua, heavy on the whipped cream, _obvi_ ,” he calls. 

“I am not making fucking blowjobs for these kids!” Weasel grits out at Deadpool’s retreating form as he disappears into a back room, leaving the spiders alone at the bar. 

Weasel curses under his breath and leans on the bar, eye-level with the brothers. He takes in their appearance with a critical eye. “So, what’s the deal. Why’re you kids hanging around a dick like that.”

“Hungry.” Peter flatly answers.

“Yeah, well, tough shit. No food here.”

“Liar.” Kaine suddenly snags something behind Weasel with a web, reeling it back to his palm.

Weasel startles, eyes darting from the shelf the food was on to Kaine’s hand and back. He finally moves to reclaim the food when Kaine starts to unwrap it’s packaging. “Hey, that’s mine -- !”

Peter seizes Weasel’s forearm before it can reach the unwrapped sandwich, turning it over palm-up and pinning it roughly against the table. Weasel makes a pained noise and struggles to get out of the superhuman grip. 

The whole bar goes silent, and Peter’s Sense starts to wail in his head. The patrons have shifted their full attention to the kids and whimpering bartender, some wielding pool sticks, some with a clear outline of a concealed weapon at their hip. 

Peter lets go of the man’s forearm.

“Shit, fine. Have my fucking leftovers,” Weasel breathes, rubbing his bruised wrist.

He leaves them alone after that. He doesn’t protest when they start reaching over the bar to snag more snacks, even allowing them to have their fill of orange and pineapple juice because ‘no one orders cocktails in this shithole anyways’. Peter is licking away at a shot glass filled with whipped cream when Deadpool finally sulks out of the back room. 

Deadpool slumps against the bar counter, face pressed to the cool surface, and starts to dramatically curse into the table about being hung up on and mansions and shitty bald men in wheelchairs. Weasel _mm-hmms_ absentmindedly throughout, every now and then refilling Peter’s and Kaine’s shot glass with whipped cream when they rap the glasses against the counter. Ben is drifting off to sleep on the bar.

After a minute of self-loathing, Deadpool’s head snaps up like he just realized something important. “Weasel, you know what this means? I’m a dad now.”

Weasel shakes the whipped cream can. “That’s an awful idea. But whatever, sure, as long as it gets the brats out of my bar.”

“You heard him, kids, it’s past bedtime, and this isn’t a place a _responsible_ parent would take their children.” Wade cooes happily, ushering them off of the barstools and towards the door. Ben piggybacks on Peter as they’re lead back out into the cool night air. 

Wade practically skips down the street on their way back, confident that the kids will follow him back to his apartment. They have nowhere to go to anyways.

Picking up his pace to keep up with the adult mutant, Peter’s gaze drifts back to the night sky. It’s still starless. He doesn’t realize he’s frowning until he finally sees himself in Deadpool’s bathroom mirror. 

* * *

Tony stands in the wreckage of the kid’s room. The laboratory has been essentially cleaned out by SHIELD and a few agents still linger around searching for any remaining evidence. The lights are back on and the smoke is cleared, allowing Tony to get his first clear look of the room where he found the kids. 

For the past day and a half he’s poured over his suit’s and Redwing’s footage, trying to get any semblance of an understanding of what, _who_ these kids were. They were strong, that much was obvious, he’s never seen anything short of Steve and Bucky able to bend and warp the alloy metal of his suit like they did. They also produce a sticky substance from somewhere in their arms, using it to expertly flee from and eventually capture Sam’s precious drone. 

“Some Maggia, huh?” Sam comes up to stand beside him in the large room, combat boots crunching over the glass. His brows knit together as he takes in the space. “This is where they were living?”

Tony nods. Something about the room disturbs him. It’s like they were raised like something between an experiment and a zoo animal. There are soft things littered all over the ground, mostly generic stuff like exercise balls, blankets, and pillows. Higher up, there are various ropes and ledges to climb and swing on, and multiple small treehouse-like rooms to hide in. 

“Reminds me of a rope course,” Sam notes, kicking at a shard of glass on the ground. “Or a monkey exhibit.”

Tony can’t help but agree, recalling his recent trip to the zoo with Morgan. “They found smaller rooms further down the hall, but it looks like they were mostly kept in here,” Tony says, trying to steel himself -- he can’t bear to imagine Morgan growing up in this environment, no matter how much he knows she would love the rope swings. The singular rooms were much sparser, each handily labeled with those obnoxious wooden letters that you buy at craft stores as _P_ , _B,_ and _K_. Names, probably. He wonders if SHIELD has found anything of note about them in their stacks of unburnt paper.

_Speak of the devil,_ Tony thinks. The sounds of marching precedes the appearance of Maria Hill and a few flanking agents. She stops when she sees the two Avengers standing in the kid’s room.

“Stark,” she nods, “Here to apologize to me about how wrong you were about this place?”

“Absolutely not,” Tony smirks, “So, what do we know so far?”

Maria Hill shifts her hold on a stack of documents and takes a deep breath. “We’ve found four distinct types of MGH in the building, one of which is positively identified to have been synthesized from Dr. Curtis Connors, the lizard mutant Captain America helped recover. The other three aren’t confirmed to come from the escaped subjects yet, as we’re still in the process of comparing the MGH with the blood and saliva samples we have from them, but it’s a high probability.”

She hands the stack of papers to an attending agent and sends him on his way. “There are also a lot of LMDs in the building. All with serial numbers filed away and memories wiped before arrival in the lab, of course.”

“Yeah, they looked like normal people. Extra employees, maybe? You don't have to pay robots.” Tony interjects.

“Possibly. But what was truly interesting was that they used the _normal-looking_ models to protect this wing of the facility.” Her voice takes on a serious tone. “A team found a whole cache of LMDs made to look like various heroes and villians. Captain America, Doom, Reed Richards, Frank Castle, Iron Man, Cyclops, you name it. All smashed to bits in the corner of an arena.”

Sam makes a thoughtful noise. “Why wouldn’t they use those LMDs to fight us off? They’re made to move and act like their real-life counterparts, it would have been a hell of a fight.”

Maria nods. “They weren’t just smashed, either. Their neural nets were entirely removed. Why do you think that is?” She looks between them, clearly already knowing the answer herself.

Tony reflects on how calculated, how precise the kids had been when attacking him -- knowing _exactly_ what joints to press on, what weaknesses the armor had, what would immediately take him down for the count had they succeeded in getting to his arc reactor. 

“Memory chips,” Tony answers, a ball of dread floating in the middle of his stomach. “Battle reports, damage reports, everything would have been saved to their neural nets.”

“Exactly. They were used as training dummies, and whoever was in control of this place deemed that data significant enough to destroy whatever chance they had at keeping us from knocking down their door.”

He starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. He has to ask. “What about the kids? Anything about them?”

Maria stills, her facade of stoicness leaving Tony unable to get a read of her emotions. She hesitates before telling him, “They’re genetic experiments -- dangerous ones. SHIELD is making it a priority to recapture the escaped subjects and bring them under custody.” 

Hill turns to leave when her radio crackles to life in her ear. Tony calls after the agent, “What will happen to them then?”

Hill stops in the gaping mouth of the busted glass window. “With luck, they’ll fall under the protection of the U.S. government. Anything more than that, I can’t say.”

Tony swallows, stuffing his hands in his suit jacket pockets.

Crunching glass signals her departure, but she adds, “This isn’t your mess to clean up, Stark. I suggest you stop worrying about it and head back home to your family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool gets the title as first dad, but that won't last for long! heavy is the head that wears the crown
> 
> shoving Morgan into this because... reasons. don't ask me what timeline this is, assume something like infinity war happened but everyone's fine and happy and no blip occurred, i guess.


	6. a day with deadpool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> otherwise titled 'the boys bully a well-meaning deadpool for a day'

Wade’s inching fingers finally reach his katana and he gets his hand around the handle just enough to yank it free from the webbed-up pile of confiscated weapons. The sharp blade easily pulls free of the old silk, and he swings it down to free him from the webbing gluing his boots to the floor.

As soon as they re-entered the safehouse, the kids had once again unceremoniously webbed him to the ground -- with obviously _no_ regard for his own personal comfort -- and sealed themselves away in Wade’s bedroom. 

Wade rolls over, his neck sore from a long night awkwardly bent over on the floor of his apartment, and groans at the feeling of both his shins painfully stitching themselves back together after snapping them in two to get the extra footage needed to reach the weapon pile.

_Oh well, no one said raising kids was easy_ , Wade thinks. He should probably punish that behavior, set a distinct ‘no-webbing Dadpool to the floor’ rule, but he’d done way worse stuff when he was their age. 

He can still hear Logan laughing over the receiver, not letting him get a word in, not letting him say that Mr. Clean has a few new students ripe for the picking. Whatever. If they don’t want to take these weirdo spider-kids under their wing, he sure as hell will. He’ll make them into the bestest, most well-adjusted goddamn baby mercenaries this world has ever seen! Then together they’ll cut Logan’s shitty tongue out! Yeah!

Wade stands up when his tibias finally click back into place. He can hardly believe it, he's a dad now! Is this what he wants? Deadpool’s mind wildly swings between ‘ _Yes!’_ and ‘ _No!’_

It’s just so much responsibility!

He takes light steps over to his bedroom door, giving the doorknob a light tug. It cracks open by an inch or two, but a thick coating of silk blocks it from opening further. He shouldn’t be surprised. 

Quietly, he slices the silk away and peeks inside. And there they are, all bundled up on his bed! It’s clear that one of them tried to be a lookout. The kid with wild, long hair is propped up against the headboard but slumped over, fast asleep. So are his siblings who are cuddled up into the blankets beside him, all laying on each other like a pile of puppies. A pile of very worried puppies. Their brows are creased like they had just seen someone eat a booger on public transportation, or they had just watched the trailer for _Cats_ for the first time, or they just stepped into a mystery fluid puddle on the sidewalk and its soaked through their shoes. 

Even with the pained expressions on their sleeping faces, the sight makes Deadpool’s heart melt into a puddle of goo and he fails to suppress the happy noise that bubbles out of his throat.

Wade retreats quietly back out into the kitchen. He brushes off the kitchen table with one arm, sending bits of pilfered cereal and empty soda cans clattering to the linoleum floor, and sets the table. Scrounging around for any food left in the safehouse, he finds a torn open box of Eggos in the freezer -- and good luck! Only one of the waffles has a distinct bite bitten out of it, the frozen treat clearly not tasty enough to finish. He grabs the opened package.

He has to be _responsible_ , now. And _responsible_ parents never let their kids skip the most important meal of the day.

But _responsible_ parents also don’t do mercenary work for a living. He glances at his to-do hitlist stuck to the fridge with a cat butt magnet. _Responsible_ parents don’t leave their kids alone in the house while they work. He’ll have to do something about that. 

“Gah, responsible, responsible, responsible…” Deadpool repeats like a mantra. If he didn’t just see the sleeping faces of those freaky little teenagers he’d be rethinking this whole parenting direction his life has suddenly turned onto. 

The toaster dings, signaling the arrival of Eggo goodness. Deadpool piles the waffles onto three separate plates, carefully balances them in his arms, and makes his way back to the bedroom.

* * *

Peter is confused. 

He’s sitting up on the bed, hands fisted into the old bedsheets. It’s dark like it always is when he gets put here, but the darkness somehow makes the space feel more claustrophobic than usual. The silence of the room is slowly drowning him, the familiar, reassuring heartbeats of his brothers absent. Ben and Kaine are likely in their own rooms too, but the thought of not knowing for sure has him on the verge of panic. 

But he shouldn’t panic, he mustn’t. Panicking would only mean he has to stay longer in this tiny cell. Be kept away from his brothers for longer. 

_“Three…”_ The sudden use of his Subject name sends an involuntary chill down Peter’s spine. Only Dr. Warren addresses the spiders that way, staunchly refusing to use the names the nurses gave them when they were little. He looks up to find the Doctor smiling down at him from behind horn-rimmed glasses. When had he gotten in the room? _“What will your future employer think when you can hardly function without your fellow Subjects nearby?_ ”

Peter hangs his head over his chest. “Sorry, Doctor,” he mumbles. Dr. Warren, the understanding man that he is, doesn’t smack him over the head for not speaking clearly. Great, he must have truly disappointed him.

Peter brings his arms to rest on his knees, startling when he notices the copious amounts of white bandages wrapped around his forearms. Oh. He must’ve really failed in training session. Maybe that’s why he’s being punished? Why can’t he remember? 

Dr. Warren’s smile turns wolfish, slightly distorted in the low light of the room. His tone is kind, but has an undercurrent to it that seems like it’s straining to keep something darker, angrier hidden away. _“You’re going to be very important someday, Three, you understand that? You’ll be a force for change in the world.”_

Peter swallows down his shame. “Yes, Doctor.” The praise is lost on him, merely turning into a string of words that everyone at the laboratory has said to them at some point or another throughout the years.

He hears Dr. Warren shift, probably pushing aside his lab coat to rest his hands on his hips, before crouching down to be eye-level beside Peter. Peter tries his best to make eye-contact. The man’s face is soupy, the Doctor’s features somehow out of focus even when he’s only a few inches from the spider’s face. 

_“You are a product of my life’s work, Three. I will not allow you to squander away your potential.”_

Peter nods, but doesn’t answer like he’s supposed to, the words are stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. Dr. Warren’s bushy mustache quirks in a frown, and he brings a hand to brush away a lock of hair that had fallen into Peter’s eyes. Peter flinches at the unfamiliar display of affection, cringing hard. The space behind his closed eyes is a void, black like the night sky. Starless. He waits for the caress or the slap.

* * *

The sudden brush of a hand against his forehead startles Peter awake and he jerks, kicking out at the figure that’s caressing his face. He hears bone snap and a surprised cry of pain.

“Sweet Mary! I just finished healing that leg!”

Deadpool is looming over him on the bed, plates of something yellow balanced in his arms and one of his legs bent awkwardly at an angle, broken at the knee. Startled, Peter scoots back on the bed, painfully elbowing both Kaine and Ben in the process. His brothers respond to the rude awakening with a low groan.

“Sorry! It’s okay! You were just so peaceful...twitching around in your sleep…” The adult mutant shuffles the plates in his arms, placing them at the foot of the bed. “I made breakfast!”

Rubbing the sleep out of their eyes, the spiders sit up on the bed. Ben bops Kaine lightly over the back of his skull; _‘You were supposed to be lookout’._

”Sorry I don’t have any syrup, I usually eat them just as they are.” Deadpool apologizes, crouching down at the foot of the bed, the movement awkward due to his bowed leg, and pushes the plates towards the spiders.

They eat in silence. Wade pillows his head in his hands on the mattress, tilting his gaze at them like they’re something precious. The spiders are used to being stared at, examined, but it doesn’t make the attention any less unnerving.

Deadpool finally breaks the silence after the last waffle is gone. “So, do I get to know what my new kids names are? Because if not I’m going to dub thee as I please, and I don’t think you guys would appreciate Larry, Moe and Curly as much as I would.”

The brothers look between one another, is this an okay thing to do? Their training said they’re not supposed to give out their designations to anyone other than their eventual employer, but...their _names_ aren’t really their _names_ right? On paper they’re only numbers -- and the numbers are the only important part, as Dr. Warren would say.

Peter pokes his finger into his collarbone. “Peter.” He points to his siblings. “Kaine, Ben.”

Deadpool makes a happy noise. “Nice to meet you, Peter, Ben, and Kaine! I’m Wade Wilson, but people on my shit list call me Deadpool.” 

“Uh-huh…”

Wade’s knee sickeningly pops back into place, and he uses that opportunity to sink down and sit criss-cross on the floor. He studies the spiders tense posture on the bed before speaking. “Okay. Uh, let’s start light. Powers. As you have probably already guessed, I’m a goddamn human cutting board. What about you? I mean, I’ve seen that neat little webby trick, and his copyright claim arsenal of arm knives, is there anything else I should know about?”

“Kaine’s venomous.” Ben pipes up, quietly. “Don’t eat or drink after him, you’ll get sick. ...And we’re sticky.”

“Sticky?” Deadpool echoes, he reaches out to tap Peter’s leg, but Peter shrinks away from his touch. 

To answer Wade’s question, Kaine sticks his hand to a flattened, musty pillow and picks it up by his palm, with Ben and Peter following suit. 

“Ohh!”

Peter drops his pillow. “Why do you wear that suit?” He asks, then after a thoughtful pause adds, “Why do you sound like that?”

“Oh, good questions! One: these are my work clothes, two: I have scar tissue on my vocal cords!”

“Scar tissue?”

“Would you like to see?” Wade doesn’t wait for an affirmative. He starts to peel off his gloves and pulls up his mask to his nose.

Peter balks at the sight, and he hears Ben make a distressed noise. It’s like his skin is halfway melted! It’s pock-marked in welts and blisters, and stretched scar tissue looks like it's the only thing keeping the muscles of his face and hands together! Wade shows off his wide grin, clearly amused at their reactions, and the movement stretches the fresh skin to the point that Peter’s afraid that it’ll snap in two like a rubber band.

Kaine leans forward on the bed. “Does that hurt?”

“Oh yeah, but you get used to it. I have. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Ben echoes incredulously.

Wade shrugs, bored with the topic. “Sure! Anyways, enough about me. Tell me about you. Are you kids triplets?” The brothers shake their heads. “No? Okay, what’s with the get-up?” Wade gestures to their bare feet and matching outfits, all in different states of wear and tear after their harrowing escape from the invaded lab and a night on the street. “You’re definitely too young to be one of those hippies that thinks that wearing shoes prevents you from tapping into the Earth’s love or some shit.”

“It’s just our clothes,” Ben answers. “It’s what they gave us.”

The man perks up at that for some reason. “Ooh, a ‘they’? Who’s ‘they’? Oh, oh wait! Let me guess. Orphanage only buys bulk in black tracksuits and as soon as that package hits the floor it’s every man for themselves? Though…” He rubs a scarred hand over his raw chin. “...Three non-related mutants that have the same sets of powers…”

The man rubs his hands all over his mask in deep concentration before Wade’s head suddenly snaps up.

“ _No!_ Am I in some shitty young adult tragic-kid-grows-up-being-experimented-on story? Am I in a fucking two-bit _Maximum Ride_ novel?” He stands up, suddenly serious. His approach makes the spiders straighten and press themselves further into the headboard as the adult mutant continues to spout nonsense. “Were you kept in tiny-ass cages and flayed open on a daily basis? Beaten everyday? Ate slop?” 

Peter furiously shakes his head no, that sounds horrible. Dr. Connors would never allow them to be treated that way. And Dr. Warren was the only person allowed to punish them when they deserved it.

Wade slumps a little in relief, but it seems to only add to his confusion. “No? Well, it’s either that or you three are on some baby Jesus-level miracle type of shit.”

Peter’s about to interject to say that the facility is nothing like that, that their caretakers treat them extremely well, that they are given plenty to do and plenty to eat, when he is interrupted by a knock on the door. Peter’s enhanced hearing picks up the creak of the broken door as the knock slightly swings it open.

A heavily accented voice sounds from the front room. “Uh... DP? Hello?”

Wade comically swings his gaze from the kids to the bedroom door and back again. He jolts when he sees the kids coiled up posture, crouched and prepared to pounce if the person should come any further into the safehouse. Wade quickly puts his hands up in a placating gesture and whispers, “Hey nonono, he’s a friend! A _very squishy_ friend, no stabby or webby!”

Wade exits the room to enthusiastically greet the person at the door. Cautiously, the spiders leave the bed to peer outside into the front room. There’s a smaller man standing in the threshold, holding a package smelling strongly of grease that Wade eagerly takes off his hands. 

“Oh, oh! Dopinder, look what the motherfucking stork brought me!” He motions for the brothers to emerge from where they’re lurking. “Kids, this is Dopinder, my beautiful and courageous cabbie who also --” Wade shifts the bag of food in his arms, offering a tinfoil wrapped egg muffin to encourage them closer. “ -- is my personal GrubHub.” 

Dopinder smiles shyly at them, giving a small wave. “Hi…”

“Actually, this is great timing Dopinder,” Wade says through a mouthful of hashbrown. “I need you to drive us to Wal-Mart.”

“Oh...are we not killing that CEO today then?” 

Wade’s voice drops to a harsh whisper, “ _Not in front of the kids!”_ Before obviously mouthing ‘ _yes_ ’.

Minutes later Peter and his brothers are being herded into the backseat of a beat up cab. It’s a new experience; they’ve never ridden in a car before! The spiders busy themselves by messing with the air ducts, window switches, and the little pamphlets attached to the driver’s seat. Ben even opens the door while they’re on the freeway, earning a few shouts from the adults in the front seats. 

Pulling into a (handicapped) parking spot, Wade orders Dopinder to wait in the car as he corrals the siblings into the massive building in front of them. The place is swarming with people, much like how the restaurants and cafes were a day ago, and Peter instinctively wants to leave before someone can bother them. However, it seems that Wade’s work clothes readily prevent any employees from approaching the kids about their attire. 

Wade team-huddles them together in the middle of an aisle filled with impossible amounts of food and drink. Peter is so entranced by the surroundings that he starts when Wade’s arm falls over his shoulders close enough that the smell of the musty, unwashed leather almost makes him gag. 

“I’m going to get myself a new burner phone, and you guys are going to go snag you some new clothes, okay? Or whatever you want, really. Dadpool’s treat.” Wade instructs. “Use the buddy system, don’t talk to strangers, yadda yadda yadda.” 

He pushes them down with his arms and releases with a loud, “ _Break!_ ” The stunned spiders then watch the adult mutant race away, barreling over pedestrians and product alike until he disappears out of sight, leaving the kids standing alone in the middle of the store.

They find their way to the clothes section as instructed. Peter paws his way through the clothes on the rack, fascinated by the number of different colors and choices available just for the taking. 

Ben pipes up from a few feet away, calling for his brothers’ attention “Hey, look at this.” 

The youngest spider is standing in front of a wall of graphic tees, all with similar colorful designs. Ben plucks a particular one off the rack, brows furrowing. 

It has a mech on it. The red-and-gold one, the man that invaded their home. He’s drawn in a dramatic pose, the blue light in the palm of his metal fist aimed and ready to fire at something off-screen. 

The wall has other designs as well. The star-chested man, the cat-like mech in black, and the blond mech with a hammer that hits _really_ hard are among the ones they immediately recognize. There are also wholly unfamiliar ones; a monstrous green figure stands out to Peter in particular.

The myriad of designs send a chill up Peter’s spine. He feels like he’s missing something, something desperately important. Peter decides to not think about it. He files it away, saving his racing thoughts for when they’re safely back in the lab and can ask Dr. Connors or Dr. Warren about it. _When unsure of your role, defer to authority_ , Dr. Warren echoes in the back of his mind.

The spiders return to pawing through the other clothes. Peter finds a few items he likes: a lightish blue shirt, a murky green light jacket, and a pair of dark jeans. His brothers also seem to have found their own outfits, the sheer amount of options making the task take more time than they would have thought. 

It’s when they start to change in the middle of the aisle that they are finally approached. Peter’s Sense had warned him that they’d been under close observation for a while, but the young employee only comes over when they strip down to their boxers to put their new clothes on. 

The employee clears his throat before trying, “Hey...You’re not supposed to do that here…”

Peter helps Ben free his head from his new, too big, bright blue hoodie when it gets stuck halfway. Kaine yanks the tags off of his own black hoodie, and peels away the sizing sticker from his red shirt.

“Not...supposed to do that either…”

The employee finally jerks into action when Peter rips the plastic security tag off of his jeans. He lightly seizes Peter by the upper arm. “ _Hey!_ Are you listening to -- “

Peter sweeps the legs out from under the employee, who hits the ground with a resounding thud. The guy scrambles to his elbows and starts to excitedly talk into a device in his hand when a shadow looms over him.

“Are you bothering my beautiful baby boys?” Wade rumbles above him. The employee goes sheet-white, and quickly reholsters his communication device. “Shoo, Pimply,” he orders.

The employee flees and Wade steps over their discarded pile of old clothes to the redressed spiders. 

“You find stuff you like? Usually you’re supposed to pay for it before you put it on, but…” The adult mutant shrugs. He looks over them approvingly, pausing at Ben’s humongous hoodie. “You want something smaller, big guy? You’re drowning in that.” He reaches over to tussle his hair, cackling when he’s subsequently batted away. “Also, you guys missed shoes.”

Peter wants to argue that shoes aren’t practical in regards to their powers but he never gets the chance to, because shortly after they’re all but chased out of the store by a flock of security guards. The kids take turns tripping Wade along the way, because watching him fumble around with a rent-a-cop for a minute or two was enough time for them to snatch more goodies.

Pockets full, the spiders easily make it back to the cab first with Wade sprinting out of the store a minute later.

Wade clambers into the front seat, yelling at Dopinder to floor it before twisting around and telling the kids that stealing is wrong. The cab tears out of the parking lot and bounces painfully over the speed bumps.

Once on the road, Peter and his brothers start to sift through their candy haul. Kaine and Ben were able to get the biggest stuff with their handy new hoodie pockets and they produce package after package of colorful treats they don’t recognize. Peter shows off a few powdered candies and gummies he snagged, but pauses when he finds the last thing he managed to grab. 

He doesn’t really know why he grabbed it. It wasn’t even that interesting, it just caught his eye. Peter palms the little keychain in his hand, dangling a strange blue and white trashcan shaped robot from his finger. 

“Ohh, an R2-D2?” Wade pipes up, interrupting his attempts to steal a few candies from the spiders in the back seat. “You like Star Wars?” 

Wade reaches over to take a look at it, but Peter pulls it out of reach and tucks it safely back in his jacket pocket. “It’s mine,” Peter warns. 

“Fair enough, I’m more of a BB-8 man anyways.” 

The cab is taking the leisurely route back to Wade’s apartment, and the spiders sit quietly in the back seat, content with their haul. Everytime the cab pauses at a red light, Peter peers up at the towering buildings as much as the car's window will allow. He wants to drink it all in, once he’s back home it might be years before he ever sees something like this again. Nibbling on twizzlers, he watches other cars pass by, people mill about, the cab’s reflection in store windows, trying to memorize it all. Commit it to memory.

After a while the boys eventually get fed up with how often Wade twists around in his seat to take what he declares as a ‘dad tax’ on their candy, and a silent plan is put into motion. Peter wrinkles his nose as he watches Kaine lick all over a few gummy worms, lightly biting a few of them for good measure. 

Sure enough, a minute later Wade’s glove appears and demands a sacrifice from their candy pile. The man pops the gummy worms into his mouth (if he noticed the dampness of them, he doesn’t mention it. Peter assumes that the man has eaten grosser things before or is just too weird to care) and then it's just a matter of waiting.

After about ten minutes of bated breath the boys slump disappointed in the back seat, thinking that whatever stupid super-healing mutation Wade has it’s negated the effects of Kaine’s toxin. 

That is, until the adult mutant suddenly face-plants into the dashboard, motionless.

The kids yell triumphantly. It’s the first time Peter’s made a genuine smile since he’s left their home.

Dopinder shrieks and his grip on the steering wheel tightens, “DP?!” 

No response.

“Uh.. Deadpool?” Dopinder tries again, tapping at the man’s shoulder while struggling to keep his eyes on the road. 

Wade springs up from the dashboard with a loud gasp. Then pleads, “Pull over! Pull over!”

He does, and the car mounts the curb just as Wade bolts out of the passenger seat. Horns blare in retaliation for their sudden stop. 

As Wade starts to violently heave into a nearby trash can, the kids use that opportunity to climb out of the cab and stretch their legs. They gingerly brush the candy dust off their new clothes, and Peter also takes this time to gaze up at the buildings around him again. He blinks. These look… Wait…

Kaine and Ben notice it too, and as if guided by an invisible force they all take off in a swift powerwalk that morphs into a light jog around the corner. Wade weakly calls after them, head still buried in the trash can. 

Peter’s heart starts to pound in his chest as they jog another block until the muscle abruptly lodges itself in his throat when he finally spots it. 

He only saw the outside his home for a few minutes, but the few details he remembers when fleeing for his life stick out like a sore thumb. He spots the window they busted through up high on one of the building’s faces, the broken glass having fallen away when the webbing dissolved long ago. 

Wade catches up to them, panting hard and making queasy noises. “Don’t… run from -- _blurgh_ \-- Papa…” He catches his breath beside them on the sidewalk, resting a hand on Kaine’s shoulder that’s immediately shaken off.

“What’re -- _bluh_ \-- you guys looking at?” He asks.

“Home,” Kaine breathes. 

“Huh?” Wade looks up and down the street, then focuses in on the brothers’ line of sight. “You’re shitting me, there’s only bland-ass office buildings for -- _blegh_ \-- blocks.”

In lieu of a reply, Peter starts to cross the street. Cars honk and skid to a stop in front of him, his Sense buzzing sharply in his head. The building’s doors are propped open, and his Sense only continues to whine as he gets closer to the threshold. He palms the little keychain in his pocket to calm himself. Something’s wrong, but he doesn’t know what. He stops Kaine from going further in the building.

Peter tries to focus his hearing while examining the entrance for whatever is offending his Sense, but is promptly cut off when Wade pushes right past them. The man strides into the building, _ooh_ -ing and _aah_ -ing at the wide space, the lights flickering on as he steps inside.

When no bombs or traps or nets activate at the sudden entrance, the spiders tentatively follow Wade inside. 

“You lived here?” Wade gapes in amazement, “It looks like a place that’d make fucking Juiceros! Or have a CEO that exclusively wears sandals in the office! No wonder you kids are so maladjusted! You were probably born in a filing cabinet and fed raw water your whole lives!”

Wade spins around in the lobby, running his hands along the reclaimed barnwood chairs and chic reception desk before suddenly remembering he’s been poisoned. “ _Hurk!_ You know where the bathroom is?”

The spiders shake their heads and the sound of Wade hurrying away is lost on Peter’s ears as he continues to explore the lobby. He sends an exploratory touch over the slick glass of the reception counter and hops up on his tip-toes to peer over it. Loose wires that used to be connected to a computer poke out of a hole in the desk, but otherwise the surface is clear, cleaned off.

He recognizes this place as what it is, a protective shell keeping them hidden, safe from the outside world. A front, however real it was or not, that was necessary for their security. But now it truly feels like a shell, hollowed-out and emptied by the enemy. 

Peter gulps. He hopes the facility below doesn’t look or feel like this.

“Where do you think the door to home is?” Kaine whispers as they continue to meander through the lobby.

Peter shrugs, flumping onto a cushy bench against the wall. 

Ben flops down beside his brother, saying, “Maybe if we go through the vents again...”

Peter’s Sense buzzes proceeding Wade’s shout from somewhere further inside the building. “ _Whoa!_ Kids, come tell me what _this_ is!”

Following the noise, the boys find Wade in a bathroom down the hall, peering halfway into a stall. Peter grimaces and turns to leave, not wanting to encourage this guy’s sick sense of humor. 

“You guys have a goddamn Chamber of Secrets?” Wade squawks. 

“Huh?”

Wade waves them over and sure enough, there’s a space in the wall roughly the size of the stall that leads to a dimly lit flight of stairs. The toilet that was there had been pushed in and to the side by some sort of mechanism.

Wade wipes the remaining spit from the side of his grin with the back of his glove. “Well?”

“We don’t...know what that is.” Ben whispers. 

It’s the way home, Peter thinks. Home’s down there! He’s torn between sprinting down the stairs and staying put, afraid of what he might see.

Against all judgement, Ben and Peter start to pad into the dark corridor, with Kaine reluctantly following close behind. Wade brings up the rear, happy to solve this mystery with the kids. He calls after them, “Buddy system! Also, I will blow chunks again if there are any big snakes down here, just so you know.”

* * *

It’s home. 

It’s eerily void of activity, the bustle of nurses and lab techs that fill their memories gone and the remaining silence only deepens Peter’s sense of dread.

Wade fills the silence with his incessant questions, but he gradually goes quiet with every confused answer and non-response. He’d ask about rooms, the what the signs mean on the walls, where everyone was, what their favorite room is, but they just _don’t know_. They don’t even know where they are in the facility. Barely anything’s left behind, and the few objects Wade picks up they can only answer as ‘needle for blood work, probably’ or ‘clipboard with Ben’s name on it’.

That’s why when they finally come across the one corridor they know, they race down it. Desperate for familiarity, Peter has to be stopped by Wade when he and his brothers are almost inside the room, _their_ room. 

Wade’s grip on his jacket hood pulls him back, and when he speaks there’s a lilt to his voice that’s been growing over the past few minutes, a hint of unease and worry.

“That’s broken glass, buddy.” 

Not caring, Peter yanks himself away from the man’s grip. He shoots a web to the top of the broken observational window and swings himself over to the other side, avoiding the glass. He scrambles up the support for one of the hideboxes to survey the room. 

Like the rest of the building, their room is totally gutted. Empty. He bends over to peek inside the hidebox. Empty. He even sees that a few of the ropes are gone from their usual spots.

Peter’s head starts to pound. They wouldn’t just leave them to fend for themselves! We’re too important to them! It had to be the enemies that did this! They wouldn’t just pack up and _leave!_

Peter springs back outside, smacking and sticking to the corridor wall.

Wade kicks at a few shards of glass. “Yeah...definitely getting a shitty YA novel feel from this…”

Kaine leads the way further down the hall, past their room. The single rooms, washroom, and training arena are gutted all the same. They pad the familiar march to Dr. Warren’s private study, hoping that the Doctor is there, or left a note, or…

Surprisingly, Dr. Warren’s study is still somewhat intact. The filing cabinet drawers have been taken, a lot of the books on the shelf are gone, and the Doctor’s personal effects are among the things obviously missing. But there’s no note and no Doctor.

The spiders used to make jokes about how different Dr. Warren’s office was from Dr. Connors’. Connors liked to keep pictures of the boys beside pictures of his own family on his desk, Warren only kept X-rays and molecular data. Connors had artwork that depicted the outside world in colorful dots and smudges (impressionist, he told them once), while Warren hung diagrams of skeletal systems and wooden boxes of pinned butterflies on his. The two men seem so different, Peter often wondered if their thoughts on interior design ever fueled any of their routine arguments.

“Er...Is this your...dad’s office?” Wade tries. The man starts to shuffle through texts on a nearby bookcase, tipping textbook after textbook on genetics and molecular encyclopedias off their shelves and onto the floor. 

Ben gasps from across the room, tapping at a small glass box. “He left Gwendolyne!” 

"Whoa, really?" Sure enough, Peter squints into the dark cage to see Dr. Warren’s prized tarantula sitting patiently inside her hole, abandoned and waiting. 

Wade shrieks from across the room, dropping one of Gwen’s sheds that the Doctor had pinned to a small piece of corkboard. “Ok, that’s it! I’m over it! C’mon kids, let’s get back outside before Dopinder gets another parking ticket.”

The man bustles them out of the office and the brothers are too stunned to fight it. They allow themselves to be led back past their room and back into unfamiliar territory. 

But Peter’s head is _pounding_. He thought it was just nerves served with a heaping dollop of panic piled on top, but it’s something infinitely more that that now. He instinctively stops in the middle of a hallway, tugging back on Wade’s gentle hold on his arm.

“C’mon, Peter, we’ll come back later okay? Then we can get your...whatever’s...freaky little spider friend.” 

Peter swallows and shakes his head furiously. The pounding has transformed into a jackhammer at the back of his skull. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Ben tense up as well, the youngest spider's breathing picking up as adrenaline starts to kick in.

Wade slumps, muttering something under his breath before relenting. “Fine, okay. Let’s go get Gwendolyne. But it’s going to be _your_ responsibility. You’re not going to dupe me into changing its litterbox.”

Wade turns around to backtrack.

And Peter’s Sense explodes in his head at the same time Wade’s does. 

Wade immediately collapses to the floor, the gaping hole in the back of his skull leaking red into the spaces in between the white tiles. Shell-shocked, the spiders bring shaking hands up to touch the fresh spattering of blood on their faces.

There’s suddenly a line of people in black, heavy armor holding shields at the end of the corridor they were going down. A one-eyed man stands in front of them, reholstering a pistol into a belt under his trenchcoat. 

“Now, kids.” One-eye’s voice echoes from down the hall, “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

The armored people with riot shields crouch low in unison, and Peter catches the distinct _click-clack_ of safeties switching off.

“Come quietly, or you will be in for a world of trouble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait on this chapter, i hope the length makes up for the absence! 
> 
> the 8th was my first day of the new semester, but i had to be there on the 6th because im working on two separate publications with an advisor! it was kind of a waking nightmare the whole week, so i wasn't able to work on this story until monday. also my body farm job is cool! i get to clean bones with toothbrushes :D and hopefully not pass out since intake is right next to our cleaning station lol.
> 
> a note about how kaine's venom works: venom is essentially modified saliva, so i took that idea and ran with it. so he has both dangerous spit and venom glands! you'd probably get sick if you drank or ate after him (bc of such things like backwash), his toxin only gets dangerous if its in high concentrations (i.e. the licking of the gummy worms or a direct bite) 
> 
> (extra fun fact! peter and ben have venom glands as well! but they obviously have no venom so its just straight up extra saliva with maybe some anti-coagulant proteins or w/e floating in it (gross lol). the worst they could give you is a pretty bad infection, probably)


	7. under a glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fury doesn't take any shit, Peter panics, and Tony wonders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE we're almost to Tony's formal introduction to the boys, should be either the next chapter or the one after!
> 
> Note!!: There is a light description of a panic attack towards the end of this chapter, it's very brief but I'd thought I'd mention it!

One, two, three, four... Nine soldiers, not counting One-eye. Rifles, handguns, tasers, shields. Ten against three. Not great, but they’ve faced worse.

Slowly, Peter and his brothers shift into position. They inch closer to each other and crouch to make themselves smaller targets. The tips of Peter’s fingers touch the warm river of lifeblood that’s steadily pooling out of Wade.

“Stand _down_.” One-eye warns. His hand hovers over his holster in a silent threat. 

The line of soldiers are blocking the way out, but the ceiling is still high enough in this part of the lab that if they’re fast enough, they could try to make a break for it over their heads. Leaving Wade behind is unfortunate, but if Peter has to choose between the safety of his brothers or a near-invincible man his choice will always be his siblings. It seems like the man’s been through worse, anyways. 

Peter shifts his weight to his haunches, ready to spring into action.

Kaine clicks his tongue once, twice. Peter’s eyes widen and he looks to his brother out of the corner of his eye. The secret language developed for when they’re unable to communicate spells out his plan; he wants to _attack!_ Kaine’s face is deadly serious, focused hard on the threats in front of them, unaware or uncaring of his brother’s sudden surprise. Kaine clicks again, louder this time. He’s leaving no room for argument.

Peter wants to scream! If Kaine had any sort of Sense he’d know that he’s throwing away a perfectly viable option: _getting the hell out of here!_

“I’m going to count to three. Get down on your bellies with your hands behind your head,” One-eye orders. 

“One...”

This is a bad idea, such a bad idea. This isn’t a training session, these guys are deadly serious. They won’t shut down automatically if things get out of hand.

“Two…”

One of the soldiers slings a large bazooka-looking gun over his shield, aiming at the spiders. Peter shrinks smaller, tensing for the eventual confrontation. If they make it out of this he’s going to absolutely kick his brother’s ass. He takes a deep breath as he watches Kaine’s fingers make slight movements against the floor, showing his attack plan. The tiny movements smudge Wade’s cooling blood around the tile in front of him.

“Three.”

The spiders split off in three directions just as the bazooka fires a wide net. The net hums with electricity as it flies over the head of Kaine, who is quickly closing the distance between himself and One-eye.

One-eye curses and promptly falls back behind the line, leaving Kaine to change targets and barrel into one of the men with riot shields. Peter and Ben wall run over to the formation and do the same, webbing weapons away before they can be used on Kaine. 

Peter and Ben then drop onto the formation. Peter bearhugs one of the soldiers around his rough kevlar middle, pushing the air out of his chest as they go tumbling into the tile. The man swings a taser rod, bringing it down towards Peter’s side, but Peter senses the attack coming and twists the rod out of the man’s hand and instead presses it against the exposed patch of skin between the man’s chestplate and helmet. 

The soldier goes immediately limp, twitching with electricity. Another soldier drives a boot against Peter’s ribs, kicking him off his companion and flipping the spider onto his back. Peter looks upward into the hollow stare of a gun barrel. 

It fires before he can completely roll himself out of the way and Peter yelps as his shoulder flares up in sharp pain. He lunges for the gun, tearing it out of the soldier’s hands hard enough that the man cries out as the bones in his fingers snap. Peter then brings a frantic hand to his pulsing shoulder expecting to draw back a palm coated in blood, but instead his fingers brush the fuzzy end of a dart lodged deep in the muscle. _Oh no._

Yanking out the dart, he checks up on his brother’s wrestling with their own soldiers only feet away. Peter hears the piercing scream of the soldier Kaine has pinned to the corridor wall, his wrists pressing hard into the man’s ribcage. 

One-eye curses louder this time and all but yells into a communication device in his ear, “Bring in the suits!”

A foreboding rumble echoes from down the hallway, and Peter’s Sense erupts in his head to the beat of the heavy steps just around the corner. Panicked, he screeches over the cacophony of tasers crackling and men grunting that they need to leave, _now._

But before they can do anything armored suits block their only exit. They’re massive, and their appearance immediately reminds Peter of a bulkier, more threatening version of the red-and-gold man. Covered head-to-toe in slick black metal and their faces hidden by smooth reflective black glass, everything about them screams _tactical_.

One of the new arrivals tosses One-eye another one of those bazooka net guns, and he advances. “Remember! Non-lethal measures, switch to using the Rogers-grade sedative.” One-eye orders.

One-eye raises the bazooka at a distracted Kaine. Peter and Ben both recognize the immediate danger their eldest brother is in, but Ben is closer. The youngest spider kicks his sparring partner away and rushes in.

He never gets there. Ben screams when one of the suited men stops him, wrapping a single, whole gauntlet around his face and holding him above the ground. The youngest spider scrabbles at the metal arm, his terrified screeches muffled by the glove. The armored man then activates a needle-like appendage that emerges from his free gauntlet and stabs it into Ben’s thigh. Ben’s screams reach a fever-pitch before they abruptly fade, the youngest spider suddenly going slack in the suit’s grip. 

Unfazed by the screeching to his right, One-eye fires the bazooka and Kaine starts to wail as well. The net only clips him, but it’s design makes it so that it constricts around anything it touches. Kaine spasms in the net, trapped, and a different suited man approaches with the same type of needle used to subdue a now eerily still Ben.

No, no, no _nono_ **_no_ ** _\--_

Peter sees red. His anguished screams blend with those of the soldiers as he cuts a wave of carnage towards One-eye. One-eye keeps his infuriatingly neutral expression as he takes a defensive stance, reloading the bazooka. Peter slings a web to slingshot himself towards the man, but his head explodes in pain when another specialized suited man socks him in the skull mid-leap.

Peter sees stars burst and fizzle behind his eyes, and the spider only tangentially feels his body hit the ground meters away. Pure instinct alone allows him to narrowly roll out of the way of a subsequent volley of tasers.

Once his vision returns Peter continues his assault, perfect fury dictating his every move. He knows Dr. Warren would frown on him for this, not retreating when you’re clearly out-manned and out-gunned, but these are his _brothers!_ _His family!_

He makes an animalistic cry as he charges forward, calculating all the bones he can break in this man’s body before the suited men can put a bullet in him.

He’s once again intercepted by another suit, batted away mid-charge. Peter feels his brain rattle around in his skull as he smacks into the corridor wall before his Sense breaks through the daze, warning him of the next danger. Dizzy, he’s unable to dodge the electrified net One-eye fires at him.

Humming cords wrap around his body, and it feels like his skin’s on _fire_ wherever it touches. He writhes like a downed bird against the wall, primal instinct pleading with him to get away from the pain, but it’s impossible. The net only constricts more and more with each desperate thrash. Exhausted, Peter eventually gives up to whimper and twitch in his bindings.

One-eye stands up, letting out a deep exhale. He takes in the havoc wrecked in the corridor; his men holding broken arms or clutching bleeding sides, while the ones in specialized suits stand around for further instructions, virtually unharmed. 

“ _Fucking hell._ ” One-eye curses under his breath. He points at the spiders. “Make sure they’re properly tranq’d. I don’t want them waking up on the road.”

Peter renews his efforts to get out of the net when one of the suits nods and stomps over to him. An armored knee presses down onto his sternum. “Hold still,” the soldier pleads. Peter fails to hold back tears as the needle approaches his neck, keening pitifully when it pinches his skin. 

He failed, they failed, they’ll never get back to Dr. Connors or Dr. Warren again. They’ll never see home again. They’re goners. The hunters have them.

Another suit asks, “What about Wilson, Director?” 

One-eye makes a thoughtful noise, moving over to lightly kick at Wade’s side on the floor. The adult mutant groans, and One-eye casually draws his pistol and fires another round into the back of Wade’s head. Peter barely flinches at the noise, his world steadily going syrupy. “Wilson goes too. He’s got a few questions he needs to answer.”

Peter tries to focus his eyes. He seeks out his brothers in the crowd, but the world swirls and twists like a lollipop in front of him. He feels someone move him around, untangling him from the net, but he’s too tired to move or fight it. 

Sleep presses two insistent fingers against his eyelids. He finally sees them, Kaine and Ben, hauntingly still and lifeless across the corridor. A strangled, tragic noise fights its way out of his throat, and someone bends down to scoop him up, his limp form cradled against the cool, dark armor of a specialized suit. Peter feels his hot tears and breath fog up the metal pressing against his cheek and he finally relents, letting sleep swallow him. So be it. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. Anything to get away from here.

* * *

Tony bounces Morgan on his knee. 

The feisty four-year-old giggles, tapping away at her own tablet on the kitchen island as her father stays engrossed with his. 

He replays the video he’s watched hundreds of times over. He could rehearse it in his sleep at this point. Through Redwing’s lenses, he watches the kids vault and spring over obstacles like they’d been running that gauntlet their whole lives. He’s mesmerized by the way they move as one, shouting warnings and staying in loose formation like trained soldiers. Which, Tony guesses, they are, kind of. Maybe? 

Maria Hill has been frustratingly evasive towards the subject for the past few days. _‘It’s an ongoing investigation’_ , this. _‘It’s not Avenger’s business’_ , that. In all honesty, it’s driving Tony unreasonably crazy for some reason. Maybe it’s because Hill talks about a few _scared kids_ like they’re some misplaced _superweapon_? Maybe it's simply because Tony hates unanswered questions.

Tony’s growing anxiety makes itself known in his bouncing leg, and Morgan whines when the shaking starts to make her miss a few points on her mobile game. 

“Sorry, Mo.” Iron Man apologizes, planting a kiss to her hair while keeping his eyes on the video.

Morgan looks over to his tablet then pouts up at him. “That video again?” She complains. 

“Mm-hmm.”

“Mom said you’re trying to poke your nose into business that isn’t yours and you should stop and eat cheeseballs with me,” Morgan supplies, abandoning her game and reaching over to the nearby plate for said snack. 

“Did she now?”

Morgan pops a cheeseball in her mouth, leaning over to peer closer at Tony’s tablet. Tony tilts the screen in her direction. It’s currently playing the part where the boys are clustered around Redwing on the scaffolding, their faces clearly captured on the drone’s fisheye lens. 

Morgan smiles amused when the kid with short brown hair pokes at Redwing’s camera. “What are their names?” she asks.

“...I don’t know, Mo.” It’s another thing that Tony _just feels_ that Hill knows and is keeping from him for some inane reason. There’s no way they don’t know, with all the documents they managed to save. 

Morgan deflates, frowning at the screen. 

“Would you...like to guess their names? We found big letters on their doors, and I’m almost positive that they’re initials.” He puts down the tablet, hoisting a laughing Morgan onto his hip as he stands up from the barstool and moves over to the coffee table. On a notepad he writes in big letters ‘K’, ‘P’, and ‘B’ split into three bins. “Once we find them and figure out their actual names, I’ll make Happy give you an extra scoop of ice cream next time we’re out if you guess any of them correctly. Deal?”

Morgan takes the notepad and pencil, mulling it over. “...Deal.”

They then spend the rest of the afternoon like that, with Morgan scribbling name after name onto the notepad. She’s determined to get it right, and she quickly amasses a few pages of name choices, no matter how definitely not name-like some of them are. Tony’s anxiety gradually ebbs as he tries to match names like ‘Pumpkin’, ‘Kandy’ and ‘Blinky’ to the stressed faces in the video.

The four-year-old, of course, eventually bores of the task and falls asleep watching a Disney movie, and as he cradles her against his chest as he carries her back to her room, Tony’s mind stubbornly keeps returning to the kids.

* * *

Peter wakes up surprised he’s not strapped to an examination table, pinned and flayed open like some dissected gecko Dr. Connors would have on his lab bench. He doesn’t even feel that familiar ache after a session in the testing lab, so they must have not poked or prodded at him while he was under. 

He instead blinks into the world on a soft cot, face sunken into a downy pillow. For a second he thinks he’s back at Wade’s apartment, but the pillow doesn’t smell at all musty or mildewy. 

Slowly, he sits up on the bed, examining the cell they put him in. 

It’s small, maybe close to a fifth of the size of his room back home, furnished with a small cot and semi-walled off bathroom in the corner. There’s a large window that looks out into the hallway, reinforced with thin bars that criss-cross through the glass, and a metal door without a handle. It reminds him of the small rooms he and his brothers got separated into whenever they needed to be reprimanded or punished. 

He’s also in different clothes -- a white tee and gray sweatpants, and Peter panics for a second until he sees he still has the same boxers on underneath. 

Then suddenly the confrontation from yesterday (Was it yesterday? How long has it been?) comes flooding back all at once. The image of Kaine and Ben, motionless on the floor sears its way through his mind and Peter’s breath starts to quicken. 

Being alone in the cell suddenly becomes suffocating, and Peter tumbles out of the cot to rush up to the glass window. He pounds against the glass, hoping to catch someone’s attention, and that's when he notices the little black bands around his wrists.

Still hyperventilating, he sees that the thin metal bands are flush to his skin, both with steadily blinking green lights. He tries to force his nails under the metal to pry it off, but he yelps when it shocks him for his attempt.

Peter’s chest feels like its constricting, unable to get a full breath of air. He needs to see his siblings, he wants to, he has to! He scrambles back to the opposite wall, curling up into a tight ball next to the cot, trying to calm his hammering heart. He mustn't panic. 

Suddenly there’s a prick on his wrist and it feels like everything slows down. Lethargic, he starts to slump over just as soon as a few people in lab coats swipe their way into his room, gently easing him up and onto the cot. One of them rubs soothing circles into his back, and another talks softly to him as they check his pulse. It doesn’t calm him one bit, but the drug the band pumped into him evens his heart rate out anyways.

They check on him routinely after that. The prick against his skin and the sudden slackening of his muscles become annoyingly routine for the next few hours, always preceding a group of doctors stepping into his cell to take temperatures, cheek swabs, or bloodwork.

After the doctors have finished their basic tests, they start poking around at his mutated biology. They swivel his limp arm around, pressing at the faint outline of the silk glands visible on the underside of his forearms. It feels weird, more than weird. They poke and massage around in different places trying to express the silk until an exhausted, frustrated Peter forces the lethargic muscles in his fingers to show them exactly where to press. 

The doctors don’t say much, but he slowly becomes confident that his brothers are okay and nearby. The hallway in front of his cell is alive with people carrying trays and clipboards to and fro and the nurses murmur amongst themselves, comparing their notes of the other ‘0-8-4’s to his own. They also force him to bite into a cup like Dr. Connors sometimes did, so they must know about Kaine’s secret weapon. He hopes they found out about it the hard way.

After what seems like a whole day of revolving teams of doctors entering and leaving his cell, the last group leaves him a large tray of food. When he's able to move properly again, he eats in silence in the corner by the cot, dreading the moment they get bored with the surface stuff and inevitably start with the vivisecting.

* * *

A knock jolts Peter awake. He raises his head off his knees to see One-eye standing outside the glass window of his cell. 

Peter wants to rush the glass, scream in the man’s face, show him he won’t go down without a fight...but he’s just so tired. He’s over it.

One-eye stuffs his hands in his coat pockets, disappointed at the lack of reaction. He clears his throat and talks, the sound muffled by the barrier between them. “I’ve looked over the data we got from you, you’re quite a special guy, you know that?” 

Peter buries his head back between his knees.

“Do you know who I am?” One-eye asks.

Peter shakes his head.

“My name’s Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD. Do you know what that is?”

“No…” Peter answers into his sweatpants.

“Hm.” Fury thoughtfully nods before explaining, “It stands for Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. We deal with the unknown. Protect people from what they don’t understand.”

Peter shakes his head again, dread balling his stomach up in tangled knots.

“And you, big guy, are a big unknown.” He pokes the glass in emphasis. “You, and your friends.”

Peter lifts his head at the mention of his siblings, and Fury evenly meets his glare. “...What do you want from us?”

“We already have what we want, now we just need your cooperation.” He studies Peter’s curled form in the corner of the room before starting, “You’re Subject Three, third successful recombinant of Project CENTAUR under the direction of Doctor Miles Warren. Authorization code, Parlor.”

Peter’s head shoots up at his designation being read. “What?”

He continues, “Male, Sixty-five inches tall, 122 pounds, brown hair, blue eyes, blood type A+, just turned fourteen years old a few months ago. Is that correct?” 

“I...uh.” Peter swallows. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Peter’s confidence somehow makes a comeback, and he croaks out. “You...You said I was an unknown but you know my name.” 

“I never said your name.”

“Su...Subject Three? That’s my name.”

Fury’s brows knit together just a bit, the first sign of emotion Peter’s seen from him. “The people Connors employed all called you ‘Peter’, correct?”

“It’s...That’s not my name, it’s just…”

“Do you want to be called Subject Three?”

Peter swallows again, and he breaks eye contact. “It doesn’t matter.”

Fury pushes aside his coat to rest his hands on his hips with an exhale. “Okay. Well, _Peter_ , you’re still an unknown because we don’t understand the danger you pose, if any. We’re working to understand entirely what you three were exposed to, what you were being trained for, what Warren and Connors did to your genetic makeup, etcetera,” he explains.

Peter buries his head back into his knees. Voice small, he chokes out, “What’s going to happen to us?” 

A pause. “You’re in good hands, Peter. No one here is going to hurt you or your friends. We just need your cooperation.”

Peter curls into himself as tight as possible, furiously shaking his head. "I won't...I..."

Fury says with a finality that has Peter digging nails into his pant leg, "I'm afraid you have no choice, son."

And then Fury's gone, leaving Peter to shake apart on the floor of his cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! Here's a sketchy buncha portraits I did of the boys in their new clothes! ...That were promptly taken away, lol.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> I also have a spotify playlist? If you want it? [Nowhere, Nowhen playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5U8G1HYDEMVdKOcgKoigBa?si=XpksL-7mT8ORIlfBV2ycnQ)
> 
> thanks for reading!


	8. the negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> three interrogations, three people who think they're right

Despair gives way to rage.

Peter violently ricochets off the walls. Pounds on the window. Rips the cot from where its bolted to the floor and drives it against the glass. 

At first they would activate the little bands around his wrists -- Peter’s number one enemies at the moment -- to drug him into calmness. But eventually someone notices that each injection only makes his next outburst more intense, and they start to let him get his frustrations out for longer and longer periods of time, only dosing him when absolutely necessary. Like when he wedges his arm through the slot in the door to tear at the pant leg of the agent that slides his breakfast to him. 

When the gift of movement returns to him, he slams the breakfast tray against the wall of his cell. Bacon, eggs, fruit cups and milk go splattering across the room with the impact. 

Peter scowls at a curious agent watching the carnage through the glass and charges them as well. He hits the window on all fours, slamming and sticking to it with a solid _thunk._ The agent offers him a sad, nervous smile and hurries on their way.

Fury had said they weren’t going to hurt him or his brothers, and although the ghost of Dr. Warren whispers that he shouldn’t trust anything the enemy says, his Sense hasn’t been any more than a low hum his entire time here. Either way, he doesn’t just want to sit patiently and wait like a good little spider for whatever these people have planned for him.

Out of things to bend and smash, Peter begins to web his cell up. He first starts with the door, webbing the place where door meets wall to keep intruders out. Then he anchors silk lines from floor to ceiling and starts to build a complex web, the repetitive thwipping motions of his wrists helping to ground himself. 

Minutes later the space strongly resembles that of Gwendolyne’s little cage, complete with a small tunnel up near the ceiling that he lines with the blanket from his cot. Peter grins triumphantly at his handiwork. Now if anyone managed to get through the door, they’d have to fight their way through his tangled web and find a way to cut him down. 

From his comfortable tunnel, he glares down at the fascinated agents and nurses that either linger outside his window or crane their necks as they pass by. 

He wonders how his brothers are doing. He can only imagine how Kaine feels right now, unable to instinctually tell if the next group of people to walk through his door are there to kill him or simply draw some blood. Dr. Warren was always harder on him due to his Senselessness -- a genetic flaw that was only perfected later in Three and Four -- and constantly pushed him to adapt to his brothers’ natural reflex speed. Kaine eventually conformed, easily becoming the better strategist of the three out of necessity.

Ben, on the other hand, is a lot more like Peter, and he guesses if his younger brother isn’t blowing off steam like he is, Ben’s probably withdrawn into himself out of stress.

Sometime later, a woman appears in front of his window, clipboard in hand. Peter immediately tags her as important, since her appearance chases off the few employees left lingering around, just like the arrival of Dr. Warren or Connors did back home. 

She’s unfazed by the state of his cell, only giving the destruction a cool once-over before her eyes lock on his own peering warily down from his tunnel’s entrance. The woman introduces herself as Maria Hill, Deputy Director of SHIELD. She tries to ask him questions about himself, about what he likes, how he’s feeling -- all obvious attempts to get him to open up for later questioning. 

Peter doesn’t fall for her trap. He either ignores her or demands to see his siblings. To her credit, she stays patient with him throughout, trying to stress that he needs to cooperate so they best know how to proceed.

“If you want me to cooperate, I have to see my brothers!” Peter snaps from the web.

“Peter, I told you we can’t do that until we know more about you,” Hill reiterates, calmly. 

“You already know all about me! You took my data, you know my designation!”

Hill’s neutral expression softens, but her firm tone remains. “Yes, knowing what they did to your genetics is good, but I want to know more about _you._ What does _Peter_ think about his experiences? What does _Peter_ like to do?”

Peter’s whirling mind screeches to a halt. Irritation suddenly fading into confusion, he shrinks down a little in his tunnel.

What _he_ thinks? Why does that matter? He thinks… He thinks this place sucks, for one. He thinks… 

What _does_ he think? 

Hill continues, expression softening a bit more at his clear inner turmoil. She switches topics. “Okay, can Peter tell me why he did this to his room?”

Brows furrowing, Peter suddenly decides he doesn’t like these questions. Aside from his brothers, people never really asked for what he thinks outside of simple yes or no questions. Easy to answer. 

Giving her his best glare, he inches farther back so that he’s barely peeking over the lip of the tunnel. “I want my brothers,” he rebuffs.

Maria Hill sighs, tiredly. “It’s okay to be scared, Peter.”

Peter snarls, “I’m not scared.” A scared kid would be crying in the corner! Just look at what he did to his cell! _They_ should be scared of _him!_

Hill nods, conceding that she’s getting nowhere with him at this rate. She checks her watch. “Okay. I’ll go make sure they’re bringing your lunch on up, alright?”

Peter doesn’t respond. He disappears into his web, curling up against the blanket in the deepest part of the tunnel. 

He’s not scared.

He’s not.

* * *

Fury slows down his stride when he hears the _click-clack_ of Hill’s flats catching up behind him. 

“How are they?” He asks.

“Not great,” she sighs. “Kaine’s refusing food, Peter’s lashing out, and Ben’s hidden himself away under his bed.”

“Any new info?” 

“No.”

“What about Wilson?”

Hill adjusts the clipboard in her hands, flipping back a few pages. “He’s talking, but he insists on seeing ‘his kids’. He did mention that they did kill him at least once, as well one incident of grievous bodily harm. The toxicology report on Wade’s vomit at the site perimeter also came back positive for Kaine’s specific hemotoxin.” 

“Hmm.” He allows himself a smirk at the mental image of the man puking his guts out into a dirty trashcan. “Speaking of which, how is Dr. Grant?”

“She’s recovering, we were lucky that standard antivenoms held off tissue degeneration until we could jury-rig a proper antidote.”

Fury nods, pausing in front of a locked metal door. “I’ll go talk to Wilson later. Is Stark still trying to contact you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll talk to him later, too, then. He’s putting his heart ahead of that big brain of his.” 

Director Fury holds his SHIELD identicard up to the scanner, and steps alone into the interrogation room when it clunks open. Fury waits for the door to clang closed, the lock shunking back into place. The Director pauses, leveling an even stare at the man handcuffed to the table. 

Curtis Connors looks up from his place at the metal table, the thick metal collar around his neck blinking green rhythmically. 

“Hello again, Doctor Connors.”

Curtis laughs grimly, shifting his gaze to the side and down. He rattles his handcuffs, holding his only hand out on the table palm-up. Connors winces as the collar delivers its small, routine dose of enhancement-blocking drug.

“Tell me about the lab.”

“I’ve already told you about the lab.”

“Tell me again.”

Connors draws out a long sigh. He winces in pain once more as the collar activates again. The disgraced biologist points to the collar. “...The kids aren’t wearing these, are they?” 

Fury cocks his head, feigning ignorance. “Kids?”

Curtis searches the Director’s face, scowling. “Don’t play me for an idiot, Fury. Your people are painfully thorough when they want to be,” he hisses.

Unshaken, Fury nods. “We have them,” he simply says. 

Some of the tension leaves the man’s shoulders. He takes a deep breath, “Are they alright?”

“Relatively speaking.”

A pause. Fury pulls out the chair opposite of Connors and sits down across from him. “Would you like to tell me about them, instead?” Fury digs around in his pocket for two pieces of paper, unfolding them out on the table.

Connors looks between two pictures taken from his desk during the raid. He touches the one of his own family, running a stray finger across his son’s face. 

“Keeping a picture of imprisoned children next to a picture of your own child?” Fury questions, “How do you rationalize that?”

Connors says nothing. The disgraced biologist picks up his family’s photo to clutch in his one-armed embrace.

Fury continues. “What were you training them for?”

“Project CENTAUR required it. You of all people should know that. We’ve been over this.”

“Project CENTAUR doesn’t mention _children._ You and Warren just used it as an excuse to carry on with a sick pet project.”

Connors growls deep in his throat, his eyes yellowing just a bit too much. The collar flashes red and delivers another injection with a beep. “Warren is a shrewd, cruel man. His ambitions are far beyond my own. I was merely there as a mutagenic expert. I had no desire to toy with the lives of children, but the progression of science is often not without the need of a necessary evil.”

Fury tents his hands in front of his face. “You were an active participant, though. You can’t deflect your obvious compliance with an unauthorized genetic experiment with platitudes about scientific progress.”

“Compliance is subjective. I would like to stress that it was often _I_ that protected the kids from being subjected to Warren’s more sadistic ideas.” 

“This whole situation seems sadistic, though, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Connors glowers at the Director from across the table. The collar blinks red and activates again.

“I have a question for you, good doctor,” Fury taps at the kids’ photo on the table, pointing to each of them. “Subject Two, Subject Three, Subject Four. Where is Subject One?”

Connors regards the picture, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“...Science also often takes a few tries to perfect.”

Connors shuffles in his chair, his countenance shifting into something akin to uncomfortable, and he adds after a pause, “I was as kind as I could be to the kids within the given circumstances. They’re good kids. Powerful, eager to please, obedient. The only thing Warren and I could ever seem to agree on is that they have boundless potential.”

“ _‘Boundless potential’_ my ass,” Fury growls. “You weren’t raising these kids to be goddamn astronauts or accountants or teachers someday. You and Warren had one outcome in mind, to shape these damn children into living, specialized weapons and have some fun publishing some papers along the way.” 

The doctor slams his hand down on the table, straightening up in his seat to get in the Director’s face. “We did as told! And the scientific discoveries we were making were for the good of collective knowledge!” Connors jerks in his bindings. “We succeeded in replicating thrice over what you’ve been too scared to try again since 1943. And we’ve just _handed_ them to you. Dropped them into your slimy lap.”

Connors’ forked tongue flicks out between gritted teeth and the collar beeps. _“_ If anything, you should be thanking _ussss._ ”

* * *

Tony yelps as a resistor backfires in his hand, sparking electricity from the mangled remains of the Iron Armor chestplate.

DUM-E helpfully hands him a pair of insulated gloves. 

“No, no.” He takes the gloves, shaking them in front of the robot. “These are too thick of a material. I’m dealing with intricate stuff here.” He tosses the offered gloves aside.

DUM-E beep-woos affirmatively.

It’s been close to a week and a half since the siege, and although the man tries to think about other things, he inevitably stays awake at night wondering about the kids in the underground lab. Pepper jokes that it’s his parental instincts kicking in, and Tony tries to smile when she insists that SHIELD can handle it, but he just…

He worries. 

Maria Hill doesn’t pick up his phone calls anymore, and Fury had finally called him two days ago to essentially tell him to fuck off and stop worrying about it, that the investigation is ongoing and he would be updated accordingly. 

Tony starts to hammer his anxieties away on another piece of the chestplate. “Sue me for thinking that a military organization isn’t the best equipped to deal with a few kids!” He complains to no one in particular.

DUM-E trills in confusion.

“I mean look at me.” He turns in his chair, gesturing with the hammer to himself, “I’m Iron Man, kids love me.”

He spares a look at the video absently replaying across the workstation on a holo. The brown, short-haired kid taps at the screen with a broken look on his face, the same expression reflected on the kids beside him. 

Tony goes back to hammering the alloy back into shape. “I mean, if anything I just want to apologize for spooking them! Y’know?”

“I know what?” 

Tony startles as Clint Barton strides into the workshop, and he drops his hammer. “ _Shit,_ Barton!”

“Heeey, no naughty words! Isn’t there a little monster around here that you have to be a role model for or something?” Hawkeye strides to the corner of the center workbench, searching for something.

“Dad duties have been temporarily relieved, Morgan’s with Pepper’s parents this weekend.” Tony spins around in his chair, watching Barton wander the space. “You here for the bow upgrade? I’ve been pretty busy lately so I haven’t gotten to it.”

“Oh, nah. I’m here to see Redwing. Sam won’t shut up about how sad he is over his ‘death’. Never seen a man so torn up about a robot.” 

Tony waves a hand. “End of the bench, beside the gauntlet,” he directs.

Clint whistles, picking up the drone. It’s wings dangle by lone wires from the main body in his hand. “Who did this?”

Not looking up from the chestplate, the billionaire points to the holo.

“Huh.” Clint studies the video, crossing his arms and bringing a hand to cup his mouth. “...Oh, are these the new 0-8-4s?”

Tony’s head snaps up. “The what?”

“The...0-8-4s… Uh, what SHIELD clearance level do you have again?”

“I don’t have any clearance.”

Hawkeye’s eyes blow wide. He swiftly turns to leave.

“Hey, _no!_ ” Tony jumps up and blocks his hasty exit. “What are you saying?”

Hawkeye, the marksman famed for being still enough to hit targets as small as a grain of rice, fidgets nervously in front of Tony. 

“Tell me, _what’re you saying?_ Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Tony pauses for an answer that doesn’t come. “Because if you’re saying what I think you’re saying that means -- “

Hawkeye groans, “Here we go.”

“ -- SHIELD has the kids? Is that what you’re saying?”

“...I overheard it at a recent office party I was invited to,” Hawkeye grumbles, “I’m not completely sure, but someone definitely called one of them ‘cute’. I’ve never heard of an 0-8-4 being a living thing, but I don’t know many people in SHIELD that would call an object filed under that number _adorable_.”

Tony musses a hand through his hair, smearing grease through his locks. “They told me they’d update me. When did this happen? Why’re they classified under that number?”

“I don’t know, probably because they’re dangerous, Stark.”

“ _They’re kids!_ ”

Hawkeye unhelpfully shrugs, looking everywhere but at the billionaire. 

“Did Rogers know about this? Where are they?”

“Maybe! I don’t know!” Hawkeye tries to shimmy past the man. “ _Please_ don’t tell anyone I told you anything.”

“ _Where are they?_ ”

“All 0-8-4s get sent to the Fridge, okay! Happy now?”

* * *

Tony tries to control his emotions as he barrels through the air in a spare suit. The soldiers guarding the only entrance to the spire-like building march out to greet the billionaire that lands with a resounding, threatening boom on their rooftop landing pad. They raise their automatic weapons in warning.

Minutes later, out of the suit, Tony is marched through the hallways of the Fridge, SHIELD’s main storage and detention facility since the HYDRA uprising. Every floor they pass is nauseatingly the same; sleek white walls punctuated by strips of fluorescent lighting, with the occasional vault door or small room. 

The soldiers at his back eventually lead him to a busier floor, and doctors and agents alike send him confused glances as they hurry by. This floor is more populated with small rooms and cells, likely reserved for inmates that don’t require the use of the Icebox further below. Newfound irritation flares up like a bonfire in Iron Man as he imagines kids in these tiny cells.

The soldiers at his back continue to march him down the hallway, and suddenly there’s a familiar red figure that presses up against a cell’s glass window at the sight of him. Tony has to do a double-take at Deadpool waving happily to him as he strides closer. 

“Tone-ster! Man am I glad to see you! I’ve been arrested!”

“What else is new,” the billionaire grits out through clenched teeth.

“Oh, fair, but no one’s given me my one phone call or anything! They won’t even let me see my babies!”

Tony balks, “Your _what?_ ” 

A sharp, authoritative voice echoes from down the hall, halting Iron Man’s thought process. “ _Stark!_ ” Maria Hill stomps her way towards him. “What the _hell_ are you doing here?”

Tony clenches his fists at his side. “You tell me! When were you going to tell me?!”

“Tell you _what_ , Stark?!”

“The kids!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hill cooly bites out. “It’s an ongoing investi --”

“ _Don’t_ \-- !” Tony takes a sharp, deep breath. “Don’t give me that crap. I’ll put on a suit and tear this place apart if I have to.” 

A deeper voice answers from somewhere behind Tony. “You’d be flat on your ass before you even had the chance to flip that faceplate down.” Iron Man spins around to see Nick Fury push through the small squad that was guiding him through the facility. “You’ve been a real pain in the ass lately, Stark.”

“Oh, yeah? I distinctly remember that _you_ promised me that you were going to give me updates on the kids, and I think that them being held in _fucking prison_ is a pretty substantial development that I was not made _immediately_ aware of,” Tony snaps.

“We don’t know what you’re talking about -- “ Maria starts again, but Fury holds up his hand, stopping her.

Fury levels an indifferent look at Iron Man from his single eye. “...We didn’t tell you because it’s frankly, none of your goddamn business. Never was.”

“I think I’m well within my right to worry about the caliber of childcare that SHIELD provides. Let them go.”

“Let them go _where_ , Stark?” Fury barks, anger creasing his features. “Release is not possible.”

“They’re just kids!" Tony pleads, blind rage licking at the edge of his mind. 

Fury straightens. “No, they’re not _‘just kids’._ They’re genetically engineered soldiers! Organic capekillers.”

His eyes widen at the mention of capekillers, the robotic, tactical suits that he’d made for SHIELD in the wake of the now-defunct Superhuman Registration Act years ago. The suits were meant to restrain superhumans who did not comply, but they were also obviously able to, if need be, put down threats too dangerous to just keep around. 

Tony gulps, and the ghost of the sharp object prying, ripping away the chestplate of his armor starts to weigh heavy on his chest. “So what? What are you going to do, then? Hm?”

Fury breaks eye contact, shakes his head and starts to stalk further down the hall. Deadpool calls a muffled _‘bye!’_ from where he was listening intently to the conversation from behind his window. Tony and Hill loosely follow the director, the escorting squad falling away to return back to their original posts.

“I’m just as upset about it as you are, Stark, but all they’ve known is the lab. SHIELD is planning to continue that. We have the resources to house them, and our best designers are in the process of setting up a permanent home for them at Headquarters.” Fury takes a deep breath. “We will give them stability, and given time and further training, they could become good operatives.”

Appalled, Tony jogs in front of the Director to stop him. “No, _no!_ These are _children_ you’re talking about! They don’t deserve to be secret soldiers! How is your plan any different than what those people in the lab have done?”

Fury scowls, “You’re failing to see the forest through the trees, Stark. I’m just trying to be rational about this. You haven’t met these kids for more than a minute, you don’t know what it is we’re dealing with here.” The Directors tone rises in volume, driving his point home. “Should I mention that they put close to a dozen of my finest agents out of action within two minutes, all of which had to be hospitalized and one still in critical condition? They’re poorly socialized, highly trained, genetically engineered superhuman teenagers that will continue to get bigger and stronger! I would _not_ be acting in the best interest of the public SHIELD is supposed to protect if I released them into the world simply because they still have a little bit of baby fat on their cheeks.”

Fury glares down at the billionaire. “This isn’t your problem for once, Stark. We’re done here.”

Tony feels Maria Hill grip his elbow, intent on leading him away. “Time to go, Tony.”

Tony resists, tugging back on Hill’s grip. Tony tries to get his whirling mind under control, and he finally blurts out without much forethought, “Wait! What if...you let me take care of them.”

The Director quirks an eyebrow at him. 

Tony quickly explains. “Er…Well, not just me. The Avengers. I mean, superhuman kids, superhuman adults?” The billionaire waves his hands around. “It could work.”

Fury continues to stare, his head slightly cocked to the side as if he’s mulling it over. Maria shifts her hold on his elbow, tugging lightly trying to get his attention, but he doesn’t feel it. Tony’s entered a tense staring contest with Fury, a strange feeling knotting itself uncomfortably in his chest for the kids. He’s not sure why these words are spilling out of his mouth.

Tony continues, pleading tone coating his voice. “They deserve to have a chance to be normal kids.”

Fury huffs a disbelieving laugh at that, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets before finally saying, “You really don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m serious,” Iron Man chokes out. 

“These are born capekillers, Stark. I can’t guarantee that they won’t constantly be at your throat.”

Tony once again feels the ghost of his chestplate peeling back farther and farther and... He forces back a swallow and smiles, “I’ll just not wear the suit. And hey, Pepper already tries to bite my head off on the daily, can’t be any worse than that.”

Fury huffs again, breaking eye-contact. The Director nods, “Okay.”

Maria’s eyes blow wide. She whispers harshly, “ _Nick -- !_ ”

Fury interrupts, “Now wait, I have a few conditions.” He brings a hand to stroke his goatee. “...I'll relinquish the boys to the New Avengers facility upstate. There, you will have a limited amount of time to get them socialized and prepared for normal society. If they don’t acclimate, or if they cause an incident that results in either an Avenger or a member of the public getting injured, you will be obligated to return them into SHIELD custody.”

Tony exhales. “What’s the time limit?”

Fury takes a second to respond. “...Six months. Give or take.”

Now that’s just not fair, Tony wants to say. Six months to reverse likely a lifetime of trauma? But arguing any further would probably make Fury back out of the deal, so he relents. “I can do that.”

Hill seems miffed at this sudden shift in plans, her brows furrowed and glancing between them.

Fury smirks amused at Tony. “Well, Iron Man, let’s go meet your new wards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It won't ever come up, but I did write this with the dead Subject One being Spidercide, if you care about little things like that. lol.
> 
> also I rewrote the connors interrogation like 5 times, please tell me if something doesn't make sense
> 
> next chapter should have a proper meeting so help me god


	9. building the nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of his rash decision, Tony finds that he may have bitten off more than he can chew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your awesome comments and criticisms!! it keeps me going!

During the elevator ride to the floor the boys are on Fury gives him a quick rundown on what they know so far.

Their DNA, apparently, looks like a patchwork quilt. Roughly half spider genes, give or take a few nucleotides. And so because of that genetic meddling they're able to produce webs and can stick to surfaces in ways that SHIELD hasn’t had the time or the cooperation from the boys to find out yet. That, along with super-strength, an elevated healing factor, enhanced senses, enhanced reflexes, and a ‘crockpot of other shit’, as Director Fury says.

So essentially, they have everything you could possibly want if you were to, y’know, fucking build-a-bear a few supersoldiers in your basement.

But as he stands in front of the first few cells, a tiny voice in the back of Tony’s mind starts to agree with the Director when he said he has absolutely no idea what he’s getting into, the whispers trying to scratch and scrape pieces of his current resolve away. 

"You weren't kidding with the spider genes," Tony murmurs, eliciting a smirk from the Director. He's so used to seeing them on the video using their silk to swing and capture that he didn't think that they took the theme as far as building _actual webs_.

The first cell Fury shows him is sparse and clean, with only a few empty trays piled in the middle of the room, and it looks like there’s no sign of the kid until Tony notices the intricate mass of the sticky substance they used to escape Redwing consuming half of the bed in the corner. At the far end of the bed, there’s a hidden entrance in the webbing that opens into a tunnel underneath. 

“That’s Ben,” Fury points to the shifting figure concealed within the thick mats of semi-transparent silk, “He’s the youngest, and all things considered, the best behaved out of the three.”

The second cell has Tony reeling, it’s a complete 180 compared to the first. The small room is _trashed_ , with food splattered all over the floor and walls, the bed frame overturned and warped, and the mattress torn nearly in half. It’s also covered top to bottom in wild mats of webbing, with a similar entrance tucked up near the ceiling.

“This is Peter,” the Director says, directing his attention to the hidden lump that hangs low in the web nest. “He’s probably sleeping. Likely tired himself out after his tantrum this morning.” Tony reaches out to run light fingertips along the minute cracks in the bulletproof glass that spiderweb outward from multiple impacts. 

“And finally, this one is Kaine,” Fury says, standing in front of an open cell. Tony tears himself away from the carnage of the previous room and strides over to stand in the threshold. 

A group of people in scrubs crouch over a tranquilized boy on the bed. A small feeding tube trails out of the kid’s propped-open mouth and an attending nurse slowly pushes down on the plunger of formula.

“He’s refusing to eat and drink.” Fury explains after a concerned Tony steps inside to get a better look. “According to recovered documents, they have massive metabolisms and start to drop weight after two days of no calorie intake.”

The people in scrubs part a bit to allow Tony to see the teen on the bed. He’s lanky and Tony notes the many light scars running across his face and down his neck until the pale flesh disappears under the shirt collar. His eyes are scrunched up, grimacing in pain or fear even while sedated. A nurse runs a gloved thumb over his cheek in a soothing motion.

“How long have they been here?” Tony asks. 

“A little over four days.” Fury answers, leaning on the doorframe. “We captured them when they returned to the lab.”

”They went back?”

”Why wouldn’t they? I told you, the lab is all they know. For all intents and purposes, it’s their home. They would have gone back eventually.”

Tony searches the kid’s face once again and another emotion suddenly becomes apparent in the kid's expression. There, mixed in with the fear and pain: extreme stress. Stress at suddenly being in a new environment, not understanding what’s happening, and surrounded by strangers that suddenly want to put their hands all over you. It’s the same type of look that’s displayed so prominently on Redwing’s video, burned like a brand into his mind.

“Why aren’t you putting them together? Like how they were in the lab?” Tony asks. “Do they even know they’re in the same building as each other?”

“I think they have a good enough idea. And they’re not housed together at the moment purely for the safety of my staff, as well as their own. You saw the state of Peter’s room, the cracks forming on the glass. Imagine that times three and you’ve got yourself three very angry superhumans running through the halls,” Fury argues. 

_Well yeah, I don’t blame them,_ Tony is about to say, but he’s snapped out of his thoughts when the kid makes a weak, disorientated noise. The nurses quickly spring into action, carefully removing the tube from his throat once the rest of the formula disappears and hurrying Tony out of the room. The last agent to leave takes the trays of uneaten food with him.

The cell door locks with an affirmative beep, and the two men absently watch as the teenager starts to stir on the mattress. 

“This one,” Fury begins by tapping the glass window, “Has the most interesting enhancements out of the three. Along with the webs and adhesive abilities, he also has two bone-like protrusions that he can extend from his wrists. And if that wasn’t enough, the big guy’s venomous.”

Fury levels an even stare at the billionaire as he continues, carefully neutral. “Clever little bastard clamped down on one of my best doctors and wouldn’t let go, pumping her with upwards of about 30cc worth of venom in one bite. She hit the floor immediately, Stark.”

“It sounds like you’re trying to make me back out of this.”

“I’m just trying to show you what you’re getting yourself into,” Fury reasons, calmly. “Don’t you have a toddler at home to protect?”

Iron Man shakes his head. “They’re just scared, confused kids. They wouldn’t…They wouldn’t hurt Morgan.”

Fury’s brow creases. “The problem is, Stark, you don’t know that. You saw Wade, right? They already killed him once, maybe twice. Hell, they came extremely close to killing you.” 

“But they didn’t. They’re not mindless killing machines,” Tony argues. “They were acting in self-defense.”

Fury sighs, long and frustrated. “One last chance, Tony. SHIELD is more than willing to give these kids a stable, healthy environment to grow up in.”

Tony contemplatively stares into the tiny cell. The kid inside is slightly gagging, the ghost of the feeding tube still lingering in his throat. When the sedative completely wears off, he finally notices the pair of men standing outside his cell window and he promptly stiffens, pulling his limbs towards his body and pressing himself into the corner where bed meets wall. There, he curls into a tight ball while keeping a keen eye on them from behind strands of long, unkempt hair falling into his face. 

Morgan’s safety is important, of course... but what if the scraggly-looking kid scowling at them right now was her? If it was his kid, could Tony let himself condemn her to a life within a secret military organization? Could he really allow himself to leave these three here to grow up under the thumb of a man who believes he’s turning lemons into lemonade by taking advantage of whatever messed-up shit those people in the lab did to these kids? What would Morgan think of him if he did?

She’d hate him, Tony thinks, she’d absolutely hate him. And he would too, he realizes. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, abandoning children to the government’s whims while he goes home to hug his own child. Tony knows that if he did, he would always have that image of three broken faces poking at the camera lens etched into his mind like an epithet on a tombstone.

“I told you, Fury, I’m serious about this.” 

The Director hangs his head over his chest and rests his hands on his hips. “Alright, whatever you say. I _sincerely_ hope that you have your daughter’s best interests in mind and not act too rash too quickly with the boys. There’s still a lot we don’t know about them.”

Fury taps at the glass of the cell, eliciting a subtle twitch from Kaine curled up on the bed. With a sigh, the Director motions for Tony to backtrack with him down the hall. “SHIELD will ready a transport for them in the morning. I expect a suitable space will be set up for them by then, correct?”

“Yeah. Of course.” he huffs. Tony checks his watch and suddenly experiences the familiar feeling of his chance to get a full night’s sleep swirling down the drain. 

Fury curtly nods. “Good.” He pushes Iron Man into the elevator. And as the doors close, he adds. “See you then.”

* * *

Tony works through the night on the top floor of the Avengers compound, super-proofing it. He installs a new security system, clears out a few rooms of desks and chairs to make three bedrooms, and even has a very unhappy Happy take a midnight drive to the nearest retailer to pick up extra supplies.

In all honesty, it feels exactly like what he and Pepper did in preparation for Morgan but in fast-forward. 

Speaking of Morgan...

While coding the last bits of the AI that will monitor the boys’ floor, he hesitantly turns his smartphone over and around in his hand in contemplation.

They’re just kids. Nothing could happen. He can trust his gut on this... He _wants_ to trust his gut on this...

His gaze drifts over to the mangled chestplate over on the opposite workbench...

After a few rings, a tired voice crackles on the other end of the line. “Tony...?”

”Hi Peps, sorry it’s so late,” he apologizes. There’s an awkward pause as he adjusts to cradle the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can continue typing. “How’s Mo?”

Pepper yawns into the receiver. “She’s fine. She’s just sleeping, like how you should be right now. What’s this about?”

“Can you...keep Morgan at your parents for a while longer?”

“...Okay, why?”

He absently taps at a random key on the keyboard a few times, trying to find the words. “Er...well, I...”

”Is it Avengers business again?”

”No, no. Not really. Er…Well, maybe it is now,” he says amused. 

She huffs into the receiver, and when she speaks again there’s an undercurrent of affection in her annoyed groan, “So what’s so important to wake me up at 4 AM on a Sunday morning?”

“You know those kids we found in that secret laboratory a week ago? That you were on me to stop worrying about?”

A confirming noise.

”I...may have shown up unannounced to a SHIELD facility and convinced Fury to let me take care of them at the compound.” 

Silence. Tony continues to code away because if he stops, the quiet might become unbearable and the weight of this rash decision would crush him in an instant.

Pepper, bewildered, breaks the tense quiet. “Wh...So, what does that mean? You’ve adopted them?”

“ _No!_ Noooo!” Tony’s quick to deny. “One kid is enough, _more_ than enough. I just...I couldn’t leave them there, Pep. I just want to help them adjust to life outside until we can find something more...permanent. Preferably somewhere that isn’t a secret military institution.”

“Are they dangerous? Is that why you’re asking me not to come home with Morgan?”

“No, they’re not...Well…” Tony stammers, “They’re definitely _different_ . But it’s nothing we can’t handle.” _Just in case_ , that little voice in the back of Tony’s mind whispers, scratching away, _I want to keep her away just in case_.

Pepper blows a tense breath through her nose. “...Okay, I’ll keep her here for another week or so, but I want you to _tell me_ when you decide things like this in the future. Am I the last one to know about this?”

“Far from it,” Tony breathes. Telling the team will be interesting, to say the least. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

Pepper laughs, tiredly but sweet. “It _is_ tomorrow. Love you. Stay safe.”

Tony responds in kind, and gets back to work.

* * *

Early the next morning, he’s finally putting the finishing touches on the boys’ floor when Happy comes rushing out of the elevator and into the living room area. 

“Boss,” Happy pants, trying to catch his breath. “They’re on the landing pad.”

* * *

Nick Fury stands on the asphalt, standard coat flapping around as the SHIELD blackjet’s rotary motors kick up a whirlwind. 

A disheveled Tony rushes out to greet the Director, dressed in grease-stained sweatpants and shirt that reflect the long night he just had. “Hey, how are they? Where are they?”

Fury directs his attention to the jet. Maria Hill lingers near the lowering cargo ramp with a stack of manila folders in hand, overseeing a few agents who disappear inside the belly of the vehicle.

Slowly, one-by-one, the kids file out of the blackjet and down the ramp. They’re handcuffed by the black bands on their wrists, and each has their own agent escorting them by the elbow towards Tony and the Director.

When they’re marched to stand in front of them, Tony sees that the boys all barely pass his chin in height, and their mops of hair whip around as the rotary motors start to finally power down, especially the long-haired kid’s -- _Kaine_ , he remembers. In fact, it looks like the big guy’s swaying on his feet. They all do.

“They’re mildly sedated for trip purposes,” Hill informs him as she approaches. “It should wear off in another ten minutes or so. Do you remember their names?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer, he’s barely able to make an offended noise about SHIELD drugging kids. “Peter, Ben, Kaine,” she gestures to them as she hands Tony each corresponding manila folder. “All their information, biometrics, etcetera is in there. As well as what we know of the situation they came from, for reference.”

Tony flips through one of the folders, and can’t help but notice how much text is blacked out from the ‘situation’ part of the file. But before he can make a comment about it Fury speaks up.

“You heard her, ten minutes left on the clock. Let’s get them inside. Tony?”

He flips the folder closed, tucking all three protectively under one arm. For a brief moment, he draws his searching gaze over the relaxed faces blearily blinking in the sunlight like they aren’t used to such raw brightness. “Yeah. Sure, come on.”

* * *

The elevator ride to the boys’ floor is tense, awkward, and packed. There’s an unspoken agreement to give the boys as much space as possible, and so all the adults get pressed to the back of the elevator wall. Tony feels the armored vest of the soldier beside him dig painfully into his ribcage.

Tony notices they’re starting to blink and squint at things now. They idly gazed at things as they were led through the compound’s main foyer, so they must be quickly shaking off the effects of whatever sedative SHIELD gave them. He’s definitely going to have a talk with Fury about that later, drugging can’t possibly be good for their sense of safety. 

Tony’s impatiently watching the numbers on the elevator climb when he finally registers the boy with short brown hair, Peter, staring up at him with an odd sort of intensity. When baby-blue eyes meet dark brown the kid smiles, his freckled cheeks dimpling at the action. Tony, naturally, smiles back, and in turn the kid’s smile grows even brighter, crinkling the edges of his half-lidded eyes.

Huh. Okay. He must be happy to be out, that’s good. 

Eventually the elevator stops and the handcuffed kids are gently led out into their new, top floor home. They pad down the hallway that stretches from the elevator to the living room, flanked by three separate, basic yet fully-furnished bedrooms. The living room is essentially a shallow pit, where comfy couches and a low coffee table now rest where a long conference table once sat, and a few bookshelves and a single flat screen are pressed up against the wall. There’s also a small kitchen tucked in one of the corners, separated from the rest of the living room by a marble breakfast bar.

Nick Fury frowns a bit as he strides to the large windows overlooking the compound’s track and field area. He knocks at the glass. “This doesn’t seem secure, Tony. What if they want to escape?”

“That glass is Rogers-proof. And besides, they’ll like it here so much they won’t even think about running away,” Tony shrugs. 

Fury gives a non-committal hum, not convinced.

The agents holding the boys ease them into the living space, just hovering in the threshold where hallway meets living room. The three take in the space with brightening eyes, their movements much more sturdy and sure than they were a few minutes ago. Tony’s not sure if he should wait until they’re completely aware to begin, but when the blond kid starts to inspect his handcuffed wrists with that painfully familiar, broken look on his face the choice is made for him.

“I want to uncuff them. I don’t want restrained kids under my roof, it’s not right,” Tony says. 

Fury seems to contemplate this for a second before nodding. He digs a slick black card out of his trenchcoat pocket and tosses it to him. “Tap that against the bracelets and they’ll demagnetize.”

Tony palms the credit-card sized piece of silicon in his hand and walks over to one of the kids. The agents fall away to stand at attention a few feet away as he approaches. He picks the closest one, Peter, who is back to staring at him with that strange sort of intensity again, no longer smiling.

“Hey there, little man, let’s get you free, okay?”

Tony gingerly nudges the kid's forearm to encourage him to lift his wrists up, and the boy silently obliges. Peter hasn’t so much as shifted his hard gaze from the billionaire’s face.

Tony touches the card against the black bands. _Be-beep._ _Tak._ The bands separate but the individual cuffs don’t fall away from the boy’s wrists. 

Tony smiles when he sees the kid experimentally flex his hands. “There, now let’s do your frien --”

_Crack!_

With a sickening snap, Tony feels his nose cave inwards, and all hell breaks loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hell. alas.
> 
> i have a tumbly! come talk to me about marvel! puruglly.tumblr.com


	10. standstill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big chapter because it ran away from me again!

Peter finds himself drifting in and out of wakefulness within his safe web-tunnel.

It’s hard to tell exactly how long he’s been captive. This place isn't like home where the lights to the spiders’ room would be switched off around the same time every day. No, this awful place seems to be always bustling with activity; the constant flow of people by his window never seems to stop or slow down. The hallway lights are always on, spilling bright fluorescence into his cell, but that wouldn’t be a problem if his cell’s automatic lights that dim after however many minutes of stillness brighten again at even the tiniest bit of movement.

It has to have been at least two or three days though, because the milk he spilled all over the floor from his first breakfast tray is starting to smell funny to his enhanced nose. Someone tried to enter to clean the mess up earlier, but the webbing gluing the cell door in place held fast. 

When he does sleep, he dreams only of the lab. Of home. Honey-gold memories of wrestling with his brothers in their room, catching flying drones in his hands as they zig-zag through the obstacle course, and feeling Dr. Connors lazily card calloused fingers through Peter’s curly hair after he performed particularly well in training flicker like home movies behind his eyes, only to be ripped away whenever someone with exceptionally heavy footfalls makes their way past his cell. Rosy visions of his room’s white walls melt away to the gunmetal gray of the cell’s, the hue reminding him of the soot clinging to the lab’s ceiling, his skin, and it makes the reason he’s here come flooding back into Peter’s waking mind once again.

_“I hate this place!”_ he snaps at Maria Hill after she comes back for another round of her useless questions. He drives a fist against the glass to emphasize his point, repeating for what feels like the millionth time, “I want to see my brothers!”

His voice warbles dangerously, and he has to tear his glare away from Hill when his eyes start to burn. He can’t panic, never panic. Dr. Warren hates it when he trembles like a scared child over stupid things like this. He’s stronger than that, he has to be stronger than that. This is probably the longest he’s gone without seeing them, he’s strong!

His lip wobbles before he forces those unwanted emotions down and turns them into a vicious attack on the cot’s mattress. He makes sure Hill can see when he starts to bodily tear it in two, ripping handfuls of springs and stuffing out onto the messy floor. 

Hill keeps trying to ask stupid questions, but he’s over it. They know all the important stuff, she’s just wasting her time asking him about his feelings or whatever. And even if he felt chatty, he wouldn’t want to talk about the lab or Connors or Warren because it only serves as a painful reminder of how well and truly trapped he is.

It’s many hours later when he’s dragged out of sleep by a commotion at his cell door, and he crawls out onto the ceiling to peek. 

The door lurches and shudders, trying to open despite the thick coating of webbing. There’s a few people outside his window, and he spots Hill in the crowd when she knocks on the glass and kindly asks for him to remove the silk. 

He cracks an eyebrow up at her. _Seriously? No way._

An exceptionally violent lurch of the door nearly startles him off the ceiling, and it creaks open just enough for a knife to force itself into the space between the door and wall.

Peter lifts his wrist to web the door closed again, but whoever controls his little bracelets is faster. Peter collapses bonelessly to the floor, his ribs and head aching at the impact. He’s completely powerless as he watches the blade slowly cut the door free.

People start to stream into his personal space. Someone briefly checks over him where he lays, mumbling apologies, before he’s flipped over and something sharp presses its way into the meat of his shoulder blade. 

He doesn’t remember much after that. His head feels floaty, and every time he shakes it his world lags a bit, struggling to catch up. It feels like the few blissful moments before he was completely asleep when he was put under for a testing session back home. It feels funny. He smiles. 

Hours or minutes later, Peter’s first truly coherent thought is that there’s tiny rocks digging into his bare feet -- _ow_ \-- and that it’s very windy and bright -- _double ow._ Lots of people talk around him, but he can’t put meaning to the words.

Next thing he knows is he’s being led through a huge glass building alongside his brothers. Someone’s grip on his arm keeps him from getting closer to them, and that simple denial of contact allows renewed frustration to swirl into an angry typhoon in Peter’s head.

Thankfully, he’s able to press up against his brothers’ warm bodies in the elevator as more of his mind returns to him, but it's no more than a weak balm for the latent hurricane of emotions starting to whirl inside him. They drugged him, Peter gathers, they’ve drugged him and taken him to another place. Is this a good place? Probably not, he’s cuffed. 

The only unfamiliar adult in the elevator is making a racket with his heartbeat, so much so that Peter’s sure that everyone else can hear it even without enhanced hearing. The man’s nervous, looking away at the numbers on the wall. He smells funny, like the grease and metal of broken mechs, and his breath has that bitter coffee undertone that Warren would sometimes have when he stayed late into the night, slumped over some microscope.

The reminders of a home likely long gone don’t help Peter’s current mood. Days of frustration, restlessness, stress, and anxiety unrelated to the man yet entirely so start to boil to the surface in Peter’s steadily clearing mind. 

Peter smiles up at him when the man catches him staring. _I’m gonna bust your teeth in_ , something deep inside him growls through the clearing haze. _I’m gonna… I’m gonna..._

Funnily enough, the man returns the smile, and Peter can’t help but deliriously grin wider as if it's the best joke he’s heard in weeks. _I’m gonna… I’m gonna…_

* * *

Two minutes later, it all boils over with a single, purposeful snap of Peter’s wrist.

* * *

Tony reels with a surprised gasp, bringing his hands up to tent his face. He winces when the brush of fingers against his nose sends a white-hot shockwave of pain straight between his eyes. Definitely broken. 

Stunned, the billionaire staggers back a foot, realizing belatedly he won’t be able to defend himself from a second attack, but the kid seems to have done what he wanted. Peter is turned away from him and instead the kid is scrambling at his friends’ handcuffs.

All the agents in the room simultaneously jolt into action. Combat boots scuff over wooden floors to better surround the kids, and they quickly draw and aim multiple taserguns at the group of boys. He can hear the keening whine of the tasers priming, ready to drop the kids any second now --

_No, no. That can’t happen._

_“Shtop!_ It’shh okay!” He desperately urges through the one hand cupping his broken nose, the other wildly waving at the agents not to fire. “It’shh okay!”

The boys seem uncaring of the danger surrounding them. Peter struggles to pry the magnetized bracelets apart, but the combined semi-drugged strength of he and his friends is not enough to break their hold, so the poor kid gives up to simply wrap the other two boys in a tight hug. They cling onto each other, burying their faces in each other's hair. The handcuffed boys fist their hands as best they can into Peter’s shirt, and vice versa, until Peter suddenly starts to tilt.

Tony instinctively takes a half-step forward when the kid collapses to the ground, stopped only when the two remaining boys defensively hiss at him over Peter’s still form. 

The billionaire whips his head around to Fury. The Director is repocketing a small remote, gaze hardened on the kids. The agreement they had back at the Fridge suddenly sears to the forefront of Tony’s mind.

“... _if they cause an incident that results in either an Avenger or a member of the public getting injured, you will be obligated to return them into SHIELD custody.”_

“ _Thishh doesn’t count!_ ” Tony desperately argues, pointing a finger at the Director while still holding his face. “Thishh doesn’t count! We’rr’ all okay here! M’ not hurt!”

Fury actually laughs at that, the sound belly-deep and completely antithetical to the tense atmosphere of the current situation. The now fully-conscious kids crouching protectively over their friend flinch at the noise.

“M’ okay!” He lifts his hands away from his face to show Fury just how damn okay he is, pointedly ignoring the warm coppery liquid that’s beginning to pool on his upper lip. “Tell your men to back off!”

Fury continues to chuckle. With a wave of his hand, the agents fall back to their original spots.

Tony tastes pennies in his mouth. He tries to get his breathing under control as the living room enters a shaky standstill. The kids's eyes dart wildly around the room, breathing heightened. 

“It’s okay. We’re okay,” he tries to reassure the two kids. He holds his hands out in a placating gesture to both Fury and the boys. “I get it. It’s okay.”

The billionaire worries when Peter is limply hoisted into Ben’s arms like a ragdoll, the blond’s handcuffed arms looping around his friend’s body to hold him close to his heaving chest. Tony manages to glare at the Director as he wipes a hand over his mouth and nose, smearing blood over his cheek. “Don’t even _think_ about doing whatever that was again, Fury.”

“Just a muscle relaxant. Very temporary.” Fury answers, a leftover smirk still on his face. 

The kids warily trade glances between himself, the Director and the agents spread throughout the room. It’s only punctuated by the two boys occasionally making clicking noises back and forth. Communication? Self-soothing technique?

Either way, Tony can sense the tension in the room gradually building. The boys curl tighter around themselves and Peter, ready to bolt or attack at the slightest hint of aggression. He knows he has to do something before another outburst inevitably happens and ends this whole rehabilitation mission before it even begins. His current idea could be a gamble considering what happened in the last few minutes, but he can trust himself on this. They’re just scared kids.

He takes a grounding breath.

“Fury, I need you to leave.” Tony orders, calmly.

“Excuse me?”

“Take your agents and get out, I can handle this.” Tony insists. He swallows down a mouthful of copper that slicked down the back of his throat. 

“ _You can handle this?_ ” Fury echoes, striding closer to Tony, mindful of the coiled-up posture of the spiderkids only a few feet away. “This doesn’t scream ‘handled’ to me, Stark. You know our agreement.”

“And our agreement still stands. But _this_ ,” he gestures to his busted nose. “This doesn’t count. Just a little nosebleed. Let this slide. Please.” He’s not above begging, especially when it feels like these kids' lives are on the line. “They’re not going to calm down with you and your damn army in the room.” 

Fury sighs. The Director levels a calculating eye at the boys before doing the same to the great Iron Man. With a disbelieving huff he digs out the remote used to drug Peter and hands it to Tony. “We’ll be in the lobby. Don’t do anything stupid.”

The spiderkids watch with wide eyes as the agents march back into the elevator, leaving Tony completely alone with the three. Tony allows them to get used to the new dynamic in the room before speaking again, dabbing away the blood pouring out of his nose with the collar of his shirt in the brief silence.

“Yeah, okay,” Tony continues to soothe. “I get it. You’re safe here.” 

Both of the kids' eyebrows knit together. Now, rather than looking like they’re preparing for a fight, they appear hopelessly confused at this turn of events.

“Look, I’m not going to use this.” They follow his movements as he places the remote down on the coffee table. He’s completely at the mercy of them now, but Tony pushes that unhelpful thought to the side. He bends down to pick up the silicon card that he dropped when Peter attacked.

He holds the card between two fingers. “Can I uncuff the two of you?”

They don't react to his question, but Tony takes calm, careful steps towards them anyways before crouching down to their level and scooting closer. They tense up when he reaches for Ben’s handcuffed hands hooked around Peter’s body, his hands hovering just a little too close to their defenseless friend to their liking. The blond draws his paralyzed friend protectively closer and hisses, “Don’t…”

Tony backs off, holding his palms out in a placating gesture. “I’m not going to hurt him, no one here is going to hurt any of you.” He reaches back over with the card again, hesitating momentarily to say, “Don’t go all Mike Tyson on me now, alright?” 

_Be-beep. Tak._ The blond kid is free. He expects a similar outburst to the one Peter had, but the boy only scoots away with his limp friend.

Next is Kaine. Mindful of what Fury’s told him, he approaches even more carefully. Surprisingly though, the kid willingly holds his arms out to him.

_Be-beep. Tak._

The billionaire lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He's quick to give them space again, striding to the breakfast bar for something to place over his throbbing nose. He can feel the pain lancing up into his lower right eyelid, and he grimly takes a moment to imagine just what it will look like later in the mirror. Holding a wad of paper towels to his face, he watches Ben and Kaine lay Peter out on the floor as movement slowly returns to their friend.

When the kid finally wrestles full control of his body back from the relaxant, they move together to perch on the couch furthest away from Tony. The spiderkids cling to each other like a lifeline, almost sitting on each other on the far end of the couch as they keep an eye on the man they've been left alone with. It makes Tony think of how they looked in his thermal view all those days ago; the single blob of red and orange hidden away in the wall. They're eerily still, as if waiting for him to lunge across the room and attack them.

“Been a rough couple of days, huh? I get it.” He starts, breathlessly. He stuffs bits of paper towel into his nose, stopping the bleeding by a bit at the cost of sounding nasally. He sees them take furtive glances towards the hallway, as if expecting the soldiers to come storming back in any second. 

“Fury’s a hardass, you know. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

The billionaire makes his way over to the opposite couch, sitting down a reasonable distance away. The kids draw their legs up onto the cushions, ready to bolt if necessary. 

“My name’s Tony Stark. And you are?” 

“...Ben,” the blond pipes up almost inaudibly after a beat, prompting the others to hesitantly do the same. 

“Kaine.”

“Peter.”

Tony nods. “Okay, great. See, we’re all friends here. I’m assuming Fury kept you in the dark about everything right? That’s not going to happen here, not with me. I’ll try to answer your questions as best I can, alright?”

The billionaire continues, “First things first, you’re at a secure compound in upstate New York. This whole floor is yours to have, you’re free to eat anything you want out of the fridge over there, watch anything you want on the TV, do anything you want. You won’t ever go back to those tiny cells again.”

Ben shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “...Why are we here in the first place?” The youngest prompts quietly. 

The boys straighten slightly when Tony leans on his knees, tone serious and gaze full of emotion. “Because kids like you deserve a chance to _be kids_.” 

Their expressions pinch at that answer, mouths drawing into thin lines, incredulous. Tony wants to elaborate, asks them questions about how they were treated in the lab or what it is they think they're here for, but he wants to avoid overwhelming them with so much so soon. Especially since they're likely overwhelmed as it is already, thanks to Fury's stellar people-skills.

Tony sighs and swallows back another throatful of pennies. “Is there anything you want from me right now?”

He startles when Peter immediately thrusts his hands forward. He shows off the black metal bands around his wrists, steadily blinking with a green light.

“Off,” the boy orders.

“I…” Tony hesitates. Of course he wants to remove the cuffs, but… “That can’t happen right now. Maybe sometime in the future, okay?”

Peter growls. There's a heavy pause, and the kid's eyes flicker to the remote on the coffee table between them. The boy dives for it, but Tony sees the move coming a mile away and snatches it up in an impressive show of reflexes. Must be all the times Morgan was about to reach for a blowtorch in the workshop shining through.

”Ah-ah-ah!” Tony tuts, holding the remote above his head. 

The spiderkids spring up on the couch, bare feet sinking into the cushions and perching on the armrest. A coiled-up Kaine makes a low growl and Peter straightens to his full teenage height as if preparing to take the remote by force.

“Hey, hey, I promise not to use it! I’m just going to return it to Fury, alright?” He quickly soothes, only telling a half-truth. He retreats to the threshold between the living room and hallway. “Is there anything else you want from me?”

The boys are silent again. If he squints, they perhaps appear unsteady on their feet. They only watch him with trepidation. 

“Ok,” The man soothes again before they can shake their confusion and pursue him for the remote or something. “I’ll leave you guys to get comfortable, but I’ll be back later to check on you. If you have any questions, just ask the ceiling and your AI will answer, alright?”

All three lighten their expressions and slightly cock their heads to the side like confused puppies. Tony smiles at the raw display of innocence. He hopes it’s the first of many he’ll get to see.

He starts for the elevator, calling out behind him, “Introduce yourself, Karen!”

As the elevator doors close a woman’s voice echoes from the living room.

” _Hello, boys_ ,” the AI greets over the surprised shrieks of the kids.

* * *

As soon as the elevator begins to move, Tony presses his back against the wall and feels the tension slip away from him in a single, freeing moment, like a sheet of ice sloughing off a warming roof.

That could’ve gone better, he thinks.

But the pain radiating from his broken nose reminds him it could have also gone way, way worse. 

“God _damn_ it Fury,” he swears. Who brings a handful of agents to a welcoming party like this? Who drugs a few kids and expects them to behave when thrust into _another_ unfamiliar situation with unfamiliar people?

He speaks into the air, “Fri, lock the top floor, don’t let anyone in or out.”

“ _Of course, Boss_ ,” the AI answers.

The elevator opens, and he strides out into the bright foyer. 

“Stark!” Fury greets, turning away from the group of agents he was talking to, “We were half-expecting you to come back limbless.”

“Yeah, well.” Tony shrugs, trying to replace his confident facade. “I told you I could handle it.”

Fury snorts. An agent passes off a stack of large plastic baggies to him, and after a quick once-over Fury holds the stack out for Tony to take.

“These are the effects we found them with,” the Director explains. It looks like a lot of clothes, Tony can see an open box of SnoCaps in one of the baggies spilling onto a bright blue hoodie inside.

“And this --” he digs a small vial of clear liquid out of his pocket, “-- is a simple antivenom we whipped up for Kaine’s hemotoxic saliva. It’s a shoddy job, so I suggest that you make a proper one sooner rather than later.” 

Tony numbly nods, still coming down from his adrenaline rush, and he takes the vial from the Director, stuffing it in his sweatpants pocket. The blackjet’s motors start to purr from the landing pad outside.

Fury pats a hand on the billionaire’s shoulder. “You still have the remote, correct? The three buttons on there correspond to each of the kids. Red is Kaine, green is Peter, and blue is Ben. Use it when you have to.”

The remote feels heavy in his pocket. “Sure.” 

The SHIELD Director gives him one last look. “Alright. Six months, Stark. We’ll be in touch.” The man starts for the entryway, calling out as he goes, “Do go get that shiner looked at, I have a feeling it’s the first of many.”

* * *

Tony winces as the last of the gauze is taped over his nose. He looks over the files as they work, and every page he skims through makes his stomach curl up in uncomfortable knots. A med tech eventually hands him an icepack to place over the swelling in his right eye, which he accepts gratefully. It’s instant relief to the stinging pain trying to bore itself behind his eyelid. 

He occasionally gets Friday to pull up a live feed of the kids upstairs, watching them slowly, methodically explore their new space, trying to match the information in the files to the boys in question. He needs to know as much about them so when he checks on them later he can… he can...

So he can do what?

Where the _hell_ does he go from here?

Until now Tony’s whole game plan was simple: get the kids away from SHIELD, easy enough. But now he has three traumatized, mutant teenagers in his care and a limit of six months to help them with literally zero experience in anything like this. 

He screams inwardly. _Six months!_ Six months to heal a lifetime and he has no idea where to even begin. 

The door to the medbay slides open, and Tony turns in his seat to put his one good eye on the new guest. He sees the Hulk's familiar green figure, oversized button-up and all stride into the room, large takeout bag in hand. The constant Hulk look admittedly took Tony a while to get used to, but he has to confess it _does_ eliminate the worry about the constant potential for a green bulldozer leveling a block during missions. His constant control over his other half also seems to have brought Banner out of his shell.

“Hey, Tony,” Bruce Banner greets, messing with his bag of takeout. “Did you see all those SHIELD people out on the front lawn today? I even bumped into Maria Hill in the hallway and she seemed more, uh, stressed than usual.”

He pulls out a styrofoam clamshell box. “I saved you some moo goo gai pan, if you -- oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” Tony says, flipping the manila folder he was reading closed. 

“What happened to you?”

“I’ll explain later,” the billionaire appreciatively takes the Chinese food with a quick thank you, “Spread the word, I’m getting an Avengers meeting together later tonight. Send it through the uh, uh --” he snaps his fingers, trying to find the words. 

“The groupchat?”

Tony snaps his fingers. “Great minds think alike.” He pushes past the green giant, patting his arm as he goes. “In the meantime, stay away from the top floor of the west wing.”

* * *

“ _Hello, boys._ ”

Peter can’t help his childish squeak of surprise when the ceiling starts talking to them. He nearly topples over onto Ben from his standing position on the couch. Flailing, he seizes a handful of Kaine’s long hair to stop his fall, eliciting a yelp from the eldest spider and both he and his brother go tumbling over the back of the couch. 

“ _I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle_ ,” the voice apologizes.

“Where are you?” Ben asks, flattening himself against the armrest like a frightened cat.

“ _I’m...not quite sure. But I know I’m here in the compound with you._ ”

Peter springs back to his feet, crouched low. “Can you see us?” 

“ _Yes. I’ve been tasked with watching over you and answering questions to the best of my ability._ ”

Huh, weird. Their old room had an intercom, but at least they could tell there was another person on the other side of the microphone. This lady sounds too...fake?

“Are you real?”

“ _In a sense. But I have no physical form, if that is what you are asking, Peter_.”

Okay, very weird. Robot lady living in the walls. But considering the circumstances, it’s the least of Peter’s current worries.

Peter takes point at the window. Even shaded by the building they’re in, the light pouring through the large windows is still so, so bright. How do normal people deal with so much light? Squinting past the pain, he sees no one on the field or little bit of road outside the window. 

“Ceiling lady, are the hunters gone?” Peter asks. If she’s made to answer questions he might as well ask them. 

“ _Friday tells me that the SHIELD convoy is leaving the compound as we speak._ ”

“Awesome.” Another minute or two of waiting and they can start to plan their escape, though he doesn't understand what the day of the week has to do with that. Peter looks up to see Ben searching the ceiling. “What’re you doing?”

“Searching for ceiling lady’s stuff,” the youngest replies, his shirt bunching around his chin as he sits upside down to address his sibling. “Uh, microphones, cameras. Y’know.” 

Peter hums. He turns his attention to the elevator doors the man disappeared into. He asks into the air again, “Ceiling lady, will you warn us when that man comes back?”

“ _Of course.”_

Peter gets to work. He tips over a tall bookshelf, sending the assorted texts fluttering to the ground in an avalanche. The spider props the furniture up on it’s side, positioned towards the window. If he angles it right, if he kicks it with just the right amount of force, this thing could be a perfect battering ram. Then they could make a break for the woods over there. And then… And then…

And then what?

Kaine suddenly appears at his side. “You’re an idiot, you know,” the eldest whispers with no real heat in his voice. “A room full of hunters and you try to smash in the face of the guy closest to you? He could’ve told them to open fire or something.”

Peter hangs his head over his chest. He doesn’t know why he did that, it just felt right at the time. It felt... necessary, however dumb that reasoning is. He could have put them all in real, immediate danger.

It was strange how the man acted afterwards, though. The man didn’t even retaliate when he had ample opportunity and reason to. Instead, he made himself _more_ vulnerable by forcing the agents out of the room. They could have killed him. Maybe they should have, just to send a point home.

It just doesn’t make any sense. None of this does. Things stopped making sense when the glass of their home shattered all those days ago -- everything since then has been an unending sea of bullshit.

Sensing his discomfort, Kaine wraps him into another hug, and Peter leans into the touch with a self-pitying sniff, burying his face into the crook of his brother's neck. “But I know how you feel. I’ve wanted to put my stinger through Patchy’s remaining eye from the moment we met him,” Kaine says. “I’m just glad you two are okay.”

Peter smiles slightly, pulling away from his brother. “Just help me kick this thing through the window.”

Kaine considers the hardwood bookshelf on its side. “...Why?”

“ _Why?_ Because we’re _leaving_ , Kaine.” 

“Yeah, only for them to drug us again as soon as our feet hit the ground,” Kaine murmurs, bringing his wrists up to wave them in front of Peter’s face, as if his older brother thought he forgot about the stupid bands. “With these things we’re trapped either way.”

Ben pauses his thorough search of the ceiling to add, “Maybe there’s a range to them, maybe if we’re fast enough…”

Kaine huffs, “Even if that’s true, robot lady’s going to tell someone we’re free almost immediately. Isn’t that right?”

_“Yes. I am programmed to keep your best interests in mind. I will have to alert someone if you attempt an escape as dangerous as that.”_

Kaine points to the ceiling in a gesture that says ‘ _see?_ ’ Peter scowls, and tries to force his nails under the black metal bands once again. The bands promptly shock him for his attempt.

“ _I’m sorry you don’t feel comfortable here. Is there anything I can do to help?_ ” The robot asks.

None of the spiders humor her with an answer. Ben resumes trying to find the cameras to no avail, Peter sits dejected on the toppled bookshelf, and Kaine wanders over into the small kitchen. 

Kaine appears a minute later with an apple in hand, holding it out in front of Peter’s face. “Poisoned?” His sibling asks, shaking the apple.

Peter shakes his head; his Sense is quiet. He hasn’t gotten so much as a tingle since they left the tiny cells. Peter almost traitorously wishes that the familiar feeling of his hair standing on end would make an appearance, because at least that would make sense. They’re outside of the lab, in unfamiliar territory, kept captive by unfamiliar hands -- if anything, his Sense should be trying to drill its way out of his brain!

But it’s not. It’s silent. And somehow that’s infinitely more frightening.

Kaine takes a big bite of apple before softly speaking again. “...What do you think he meant by us ‘deserving a chance to be kids’?”

Kaine sits down cross-legged in front of the floor length window. After a moment, Peter goes over to join his brother, and Ben follows suit a few seconds later, giving up on finding anything of note on the completely smooth ceiling.

Peter sidles up next to Kaine as the eldest continues to muse in between bites. “I mean, we already _are_ kids.”

Peter mulls it over in his head, his knee-jerk reaction is to say that it’s simply more nonsense that seemed to just spill out of people’s mouths but…

“What if he meant like Billy?” Ben suggests, scooting up on the other side of Kaine, both he and Peter flanking him as a force of habit.

Billy, Dr. Connors’ son. The spiders usually only saw him in the picture frame on the Doctor’s desk, displayed proudly beside the picture of themselves. The spiders knew that unlike Warren, who didn’t have a family, whenever Connors left the lab he was braving the outside world to see his son. A son who lives on the outside. A boy who doesn’t have a designation, nor a special role to fill when he grew up.

They’d only met in person once when they were very young, just before they started to train with the aggressive mechs, at a time when Warren was away and Connors deemed it safe enough to bring his son to the facility.

**

_Peter presses his palm up against the room's glass window, matching and meeting the hand of the child outside. The two roughly match each other in height, and the seven-year-old spider playfully bounces in place, happy to meet a potential new playmate._

_Ben and Kaine soon crowd around Peter as well, curious about the freckled, red-haired boy standing outside their room while Dr. Connors hovers protectively nearby in the hallway. Peter does a playful cartwheel in front of the glass, trying to get the boy outside to mirror him. The boy tries his best, but halfway through his first cartwheel he folds in on himself, collapsing and thunking hard against the glass. Peter's confused, was he not trained to do cartwheels? Cartwheels are easy! It's part of the most basic level of training!_

_Peter looks up worriedly at the Doctor when the man dives forward to help his son, his hand ordering them away from the glass. The boy is alright though, and his freckled face cracks out into a wide smile. After seeing no damage had been done, Connors beckons the spiders to approach the glass once again. Peter doesn't try to do any more cartwheels._

_Soon they're called into the training room, and the spiders happily scurry through the travel-duct to greet the Doctor and the boy in the wide space of the gym._

_“Billy, this is Two, Three, and Four,” Dr. Connors says. The spiders say a quick hello and obediently kneel on the exercise mat, waiting for instruction._

_Billy laughs at their designations, their names, and it makes something inside Peter ache. He wants to correct the Doctor, ask him to provide their nurse-given ones instead, but he holds his tongue. Obedience easily wins over minor discomfort, and he doesn't want to seem like a whiny pest in front of the only new kid he's seen in his short life, after all._

_Ben and Peter are allowed to play with the boy on the mat while Kaine is pulled aside to stand obediently by Dr. Connors. Peter’s sorely disappointed when the two spiders keep winning their little wrestling games and even more so when Billy isn’t able to complete even a fifth of the obstacle course._

_To appease an increasingly frustrated Billy, Dr. Connors gets out the catch-gun for them. He hands it to Billy, and the spiders crouch on cue, waiting patiently for the puff of air that sends the puck sailing._

_Peter’s really good at catch. Over and over again, he vaults over ropes and uses hanging walls as springboards to snatch the small purple disk out of the air, only using his webs when Dr. Connors asks him to._

_Peter’s just starting to break a sweat when he brings another puck back to his new playmate. Billy’s delighted, and he eagerly accepts it to shove it back into the gun for another round._

_The red-headed kid looks back at his father, a smile painted wide on his face. "Like dogs! They bring it back to me like doggies!”_

_**_

“I don’t know,” Peter murmurs. “Billy’s... different than us.”

Humming, Kaine flops down onto his back, tossing the apple core aside. “Mmm, hey robot lady, what do you think? What does he mean by giving us a chance to be kids?”

There’s a heavy pause in the room, the longest they’ve heard from her so far.

She finally answers, “... _I think Mr. Stark is going to try his best to help you boys discover yourselves_.”

Kaine thumps his head against the wooden floor with a snort. 

“Well, that makes even _less_ sense.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> nasty aside about my week so far, i never thought i'd get to know what a mummified scalp sounds like when its peeled away from a skull, turns out it sounds exactly like duct tape being torn off. thanks utk body farm
> 
> ANYWAYS i'm thankful for every comment and kudos i get! we're officially in the recovery stage of the story! eventual fluff ahoy!


	11. first steps of the rest of your life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tells the Avengers of their new houseguests and checks up on the boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! I had three different exams the past week, two of which I'm happy with, and one which was an unmitigated disaster. Botany can go eat kitty litter, I'm insanely jealous of all you plant science majors out there who can tell Vaguely Blobby Cell #1 from Vaguely Blobby Cell #400
> 
> AND WOW! 200+ kudos, 100+ comments, and 3000-ish hits!? I love you all!! Thanks for being so patient with me!

Before the closed doors of the Avengers meeting room, Iron Man rubs the scratchy gauze taped over his nose, three precious manila folders clutched in one hand. He adjusts the collar of his clean t-shirt, needing a change after getting blood all over the other one, and as he drags a hand through his hair he realizes he probably needs a shower as well. And maybe a nap. He hasn’t slept since his meeting yesterday with Fury at the Fridge, and he can feel the whirlwind that was the past 24 hours starting to catch up to him.

He takes a centering breath and strides through the doors, Stark swagger in full swing to keep everyone from seeing how utterly exhausted he is.

Steve and Bucky spin around in their chairs as he enters, and Clint perks up from where he was leaning on the table, putting away a mobile game. Natasha merely shifts her gaze to him, red hair tied back in a neat braid. Bruce sips from a giant mug of coffee in his own specially made, Hulk-sized chair, offering a smile at the billionaire. 

Tony scoffs, “This is all who showed up? I distinctly remember more people being on the greatest team in the world.”

“Sam is with family in Brooklyn, and Thor’s still off-world.” Steve provides. “Wanda and Vision are busy in Westchester right now.”

“What’s this all about, Tony?” Natasha prompts, leaning back in her chair. 

“We --” Tony smiles and spreads the three manila folders out on the table. “-- have houseguests.”

Steve and Bucky crack a curious eyebrow up at him. Clint leans on the table to paw at the folder closest to him, spinning it around to read the words _S.H.I.E.L.D. RECORDS 0-8-4-11, SUBJECT #2 (KAINE)_ in big blocky letters on the cover.

Clint looks up amused, “No way. Is this what I think it is?” 

“What is it?” Bucky asks, gaze switching from Tony to Clint.

The archer flips to the first page of his folder, skimming the page. Clint barks a short laugh, somewhere between incredulous and amused. “You took them from SHIELD?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Clint shares the folder with Natasha as Steve and Bucky start to reach over for their own folders to peruse through. Bucky asks again, “Took who from SHIELD?” 

Tony clears his throat. “Steve, remember that lab we busted a week or so ago? I found out a day -- er, two days ago, maybe, that SHIELD had the boys we found in the glass room,” he explains. “And I, in my infinite wisdom, convinced Fury that they would be better off staying with us.”

Steve _'ohh's_ and flips through a folder, gaze softening on the picture of the boy on the page.

Clint grins up at him, “So what, you’re getting more kids?”

Tony balks, “ _No_. No.” Why is everyone saying that? “This is not going to be their permanent home. It was just that... seeing them in those tiny cells at the Fridge...”

Clint nods, but his grin doesn't fade. “No, I get it. SHIELD can be ham-fisted when it comes to certain things.” The archer smiles down at the picture of Kaine in Natasha’s hands. “They really are cute,” he muses.

Steve points to the SHIELD record number on the front. “These are listed as 0-8-4s, a listing reserved for dangerous objects of unknown origin. What are they?”

Tony stuffs his hands in his pockets. With a sniff, he starts to summarize what he’s gathered so far. 

“They’re genetic experiments. Specifically, advanced recombinants between human and spider DNA, created and raised to be living capekillers under the direction of something named Project CENTAUR, trained in the capture and neutralization of heroes and villains, eventually to be sold to the highest bidder once they reached adulthood.”

“Sold?” Natasha asks.

Iron Man gravely nods. “Sure. You and I both know there are a lot of people out there who would be willing to shell out millions for specialized, enhanced enforcers, guards, soldiers, whatever.” He waves a hand at the manila folder in her grip. "They were also used as lab rats, too."

Natasha passes the folder she and Clint were reading to Bruce. “That’s quite a laundry list of enhancements in there,” the super-spy states. “Webs, super-strength, super-reflexes, super-speed, enhanced senses -- that’s the perfect mix of traits if you wanted to create something purely built for restraining other enhanced people.”

Tony huffs. “Yeah, and Fury gladly watched that buy-one-get-two-free deal just fall into his open lap. His plan was to raise them up as SHIELD operatives if I hadn’t shown up when I did.”

Bucky furrows his brow, radiating anxiety. "You say they're both experiments and weapons, are they part of HYDRA?"

"Nah," Tony's quick to reassure. "As far as I can tell, they're not HYDRA. Something else was funding Project CENTAUR, just who it was, I don't know."

Bucky's shoulders relax in relief, and Steve leans back in his chair. The blond lets his gaze linger on the gauze padding that stretches across Tony’s face, cheekbone to cheekbone. “You got that black eye from them, huh?”

Tony stares back at Captain America, face carefully neutral, before averting his gaze out the window. “Mm-hmm.” The bridge of his nose is starting to sting again, whatever numbing agent they administered slowly fading away. “They're not mean by nature, I don't think. SHIELD only classified them as dangerous because they’re acting exactly how scared teenagers would.” 

The billionaire shrugs. “Honestly, I’d punch the nearest person too at the first chance I got if I was held in a strange place, separated from the only friends I had for days without so much as an explanation. I mean, their lives have just been up-ended. This isn’t his fault.” 

Steve nods. Bucky puts down a folder, speaking up, “So...you brought trained capekillers to the place where ‘capes’ live? What if they attack Steve or someone in the hallway?”

“They’re not allowed off their floor at the moment, so they’re not going to roam the Compound. I am, however, establishing a new ground rule: absolutely no costumes on the premises. That means on the training grounds as well, they have a window that overlooks the field.”

Natasha makes a noise. “Oh, they don’t know they’re being housed by heroes, then?”

“Nope,” Tony pops the ‘p’. “And we’re going to keep it that way for right now.”

“Kaine, Peter, Ben.” Clint experimentally rolls the names off his tongue. The boys’ pictures are now spread out on the table so that everyone can see. “Alright, what’s the game plan?”

Tony pauses, staring blankly at the three worried faces fanned out on the tabletop. He digs the heel of his hand into his good eye to stave off exhaustion. This is the question he was worried about.

“We’re gonna rehabilitate them,” he tries to state confidently, but it must come out sounding more uncertain than he’d like.

“...You don’t have a plan, do you, Stark?” Natasha questions.

Tony throws his hands up in surrender. “Yeah, well, y’know, this all seemed so damn simple hours ago.” 

“How bad are they?” Bruce asks.

“They’re... _defensive,_ \--” Tony ignores the playful snort from Clint. “-- but healthy and alert. I honestly don’t think they would attack unless provoked. And even if that were to happen, we have these.” The billionaire digs the objects Fury left him with out of his sweatpants pocket. “A remote for their bands that will sedate them, and an antivenom for Kaine.”

Curious, Bruce reaches across the table to gingerly pick up the vial of clear liquid between two giant fingers. “One of them is venomous?” 

“Yeah I know, isn’t that something,” Tony crows. “Don’t know why the other two don’t have that specific mutation, they’re younger than he is and are constantly referred to as genetic improvements in the documents.”

Clint squints, “Hey, how’d you get Fury to agree to let you take care of them anyways? Fury's not a man to just give them to you simply because you asked oh-so-nicely.”

Tony rubs his hands down his face. “I... _We_ have six months to help them adjust to a normal life. Six months to heal a lifetime of who-knows-what or it’s them getting shipped off to live out the rest of their days at SHIELD Headquarters. If they hurt anyone, it’s an automatic game over and they go to SHIELD.”

Iron Man rubs the heel of his hand into his good eye again. “Six months,” he breathes. “Ben and Peter are both fourteen, and Kaine’s fifteen. They’ve lived their whole life in a white room, kept behind glass like prized zoo animals. Finding out how that has affected them is going to be a whole process. What I’ve seen so far is that they’re, naturally, very confused at this sudden change in their lives.”

Clint nods. “I’m in,” the archer smiles. “I’m all for helping you tame a few mutant teenagers. It’s about time you understand how hard it is raising a son, anyways.” 

“I’m not adopting them, Barton,” Tony grumbles, “They need a normal life, and if you haven’t noticed, living with _moi_ isn’t exactly a typical way of living. We’re just here to help them transition into a proper home.” 

Clint puts up his hands. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say. So, what do we do now?”

“I was thinking I’d get them used to having just me around, and use that as a jumping off point for...everything else. Or whatever.” Tony finishes, weakly.

Natasha cracks an eyebrow up at him. 

“Hey, I’m painfully aware that this is well out of my area of expertise!” The billionaire quickly defends. “Suggestions from the peanut gallery are entirely welcome.”

A series of murmurs and hums descend over the meeting room. Some of the Avengers continue to skim through the folders, while the others watch him fiddle with his watch, checking the time. When no one speaks up, the billionaire adjusts his t-shirt and prepares to leave.

“Well, if no one has any other pressing questions, I’m going to go,” he says, leaving the folders on the table for their viewing pleasure as he pushes past the meeting table to the door. “I’ve got a few kids to tend to.”

* * *

The elevator ride is agonizingly long. The tote bag full of goodies pulling down on his shoulder almost matches the weight of the remote in his pocket. As much as he doesn’t want to feel this way about children, he can’t help but feel like he’s stepping into a pit with three unpredictable, caged tigers. 

Tony adjusts the the hefty tote bag on his shoulder, rummaging around its contents in a nervous double-check. He rearranges packages of Lil’ Debbie cakes and marshmallowy pink Snoballs, trying to make sure they don’t get squished by the two toys he found in Morgan’s room that he hopes are boyish enough to hold the attention of a teenager or three. The plush purple shark and plastic robot dog stare mockingly up at him.

Whenever Morgan is angry or upset, he's found that bribing with sweets always helps get him back into her good graces. He hopes the same principle will apply to teenagers.

He’s so lost in his racing thoughts that he startles a bit when Friday cuts through the silence. 

_“I’ve been told by Karen that they’ve been alerted to your arrival.”_

“Oh?” That’s not part of her base programming. Must’ve been a request they made. He smiles, it’s good that they’re talking to the AI. Might make this go a little easier. “Noted. Thanks, Fri.”

When the elevator doors finally open, Tony blinks dumbly and re-checks if he pressed the right floor button.

The lights are dimmed, almost dark. The little bit of light in the floor is streaming through the large windows in the living room, dousing the wooden floor and edge of the couch in the purples and hazy oranges of early sunset. If he didn’t know that there were supposed to be three kids on this floor he would’ve assumed it was vacant. 

Speaking of the kids, they’re nowhere to be seen. Tony pokes his head out and quickly looks to either side of the elevator, as if that’s where they're hiding, waiting to pounce. He strains to see if he can hear them running around in one of the adjacent rooms, but hears nothing. The floor is eerily hushed and silent.

The billionaire takes light steps out into the hallway. He calls out into the semi-darkness, “Kids?” 

He nervously steps out into the living room. To his left, the fridge door is left open, its harsh white light illuminating a rectangle of floor in the tiny kitchen. He shuts it with a click.

He tries again, “Kids?” He makes his way around the couch and around a toppled bookshelf until something makes an awful _squelching_ noise under his shoe. Lifting his foot, he spies the squished remains of an apple core crushed under his foot. 

“Huh.”

_Thwip! S_ omething snags the back of his heels, and the ground comes rushing up to meet his face.

* * *

The spiders had been busy trying to brainstorm what to do until all thoughts got shoved aside when the sun started to dip behind the trees, unable to do anything but stop and stare at their first actual sunset.

One of Dr. Connors' paintings in his office was of a sunset. Peter used to think that the beautiful mess of purple, red, white, yellow, orange blotches were just haphazardly thrown about the canvas, but no, it really does look like that. The color cuts soft light through the trees and clouds and turns them all sorts of different, warm hues. A deep shade of purple closes in around the white, hot dot towards the horizon, slowly chasing it’s light over the edge. It’s more beautiful than he imagined.

Karen’s sweet tone breaks through the silence, _“Boys, Mr. Stark is on his way.”_

And just like that, the sunset is forgotten. 

Minutes later, the spiders are clinging to the ceiling, watching as the man from before slowly wanders his way around the room.

With practiced ease, they move silently above the man until he’s in prime position. Ben slowly lowers himself to hang by the ceiling by his feet and uses both spinnerets to snag the man’s heels. The web glues his feet together, and with a strong tug, the man goes sprawling by the coffee table. 

The man faceplants into the ground with a startled cry, the bag under one arm hindering his ability to properly brace his fall. With a second tug, Ben hoists the man upside-down, attaching him to the ceiling to dangle helplessly by his feet. The bag slips from under the man’s arm and spills its contents all over the floor.

The man thrashes, trying to bend upwards to dislodge the silk binding his ankles. After a few seconds of struggling, he gives up to simply spin slowly around in a circle, spotting first Peter and Ben, watching him from the ceiling. When he makes a full turn, he comes face to face with Kaine, who's dangling upside-down from his own web strand. 

The man gulps and clears his throat. “Hey, kid."

Kaine blinks. “...Hi.”

The man turns in a slow circle again, arms hanging low and palms open. When he turns to meet the eldest face to face again the man asks, “Why this?”

Kaine doesn’t answer, and looks to Ben and the bag. Ben nods in understanding and drops from the ceiling to dig through the contents. Peter knows he has to hang back for now, just in case the man decides to finally retaliate for what he did to his face earlier, but it doesn’t keep him from craning his neck as Ben starts to fling all sorts of strange things around the living room. 

Ben seems stumped too, and after tilting his head at a crinkling package of soft, pink things he tosses it over his shoulder. The package hits the man in the face.

“What do you want from us?” Kaine demands. 

Fresh blood starts to stain the white gauze taped over the man’s nose, seeping out of his nostrils to drip onto the floor below. The man opens his mouth to answer, but abruptly shuts it as something starts to slip out of his pants. One of the man's hands flies upwards to his pocket. 

Kaine startles at the sudden movement. Peter can see the way Kaine's arm muscles flex as his stingers’ specialized tendons reflexively twitch, prepared to poke through if necessary. The man’s quick, and just barely snags the falling object before it can hit the ground. It’s the remote for the wristbands.

Kaine lunges forward and seizes the man’s forearm in a death grip, fingers digging hard enough into his flesh to bruise. 

With a pained hiss the man yields, either to the pain or silent command, and lets the remote clatter to the floor. Ben backs away from the device as if it could burn him. Peter however, drops from the ceiling to tentatively creep forward. 

_“Ow,_ shit. I promise I wasn’t going to use it,” the man says, going completely pliant in Kaine’s crushing grip. “Trust me, I don’t want to cause you kids any more stress than you already have.”

Peter picks up the remote, turning it over in his hands. He promised to give it back to Fury, he lied. Using one arm he lifts up the couch and kicks the remote into place.

After leveling a cold glare at the man, Peter slams the couch leg down on top of the remote. It cracks and fractures, and Peter smashes it a few more times just for good measure until its a useless, fizzling pile of black plastic and silicon. 

“Kid...” the man sighs. Kaine finally releases his arm, looking expectantly at Peter.

The remote's gone, this is their chance! Peter clicks his tongue against the roof of his closed mouth. _Click, click-click._ The code for escape.

Kaine furrows his brow, unsure. 

He wants to scream. _Idiot! The remote is destroyed, we can leave!_ Peter makes a show slamming the couch leg down on the remote again. The man flinches at the noise. 

Thankfully, the smarter of his two brothers backs him up _,_ clicking the same code. _Click, click-click._

Kaine turns his attention back to the man, but his eyes flicker momentarily to the bookshelf, giving silent permission. 

The man watches with cautious anticipation as Peter hurriedly springs into action, at least until Kaine takes the man's face and forcefully tears his gaze away from his sibling. 

After lining himself up, Peter gives the toppled hardwood bookshelf a solid-ass kick. It screeches over the wood floor and smashes into the window, but the glass doesn’t break. Instead, the bookshelf splinters into humongous shards of wood, not even leaving a crack. 

“ _Whoa!_ Hey, now!” The man jerks around in his bindings. 

Peter bristles. He snorts and webs two lines to the window, sling-shotting himself as hard as he can into the glass with a dull, resounding thud. The window still doesn’t cave, but something painfully gives in his ankle.

Peter crumples to the ground, landing hard on the remains of the bookshelf with a pained hiss. He stands up again, readying a fist to hit the glass…

“ _Pete…_ ” Kaine warns, lowly.

Peter stops. Defeated, he hangs his head and taps his knuckles against the glass. He tries to hide his limp as he goes to sit near Ben on the floor. If it can’t break from the bookshelf then it won’t break at all. It must be at least as strong as the glass wall of their room. They’re stuck here. 

Kaine tightens his grip on the man’s face. The eldest asks again, “Why are we here?” 

“I told you, I’m here to help,” the man pleads.

Kaine drops the man’s face with a snarl. “Make sense! Help with what?”

The man raises his hands in a placating gesture and takes a deep breath. The blood pouring out of his nose has made a small puddle on the floor below him, and the tangy, metallic smell makes Peter’s knotted-up insides twist uncomfortably. 

“I get that you don’t understand this yet,” the man starts slowly, “but the way you were raised wasn’t right, and it will never be right. But it’s okay, you’re free now.”

Peter’s eyes narrow accusingly at the man dangling from the ceiling. He looks to the bands around his wrists, and the strange place he's been dropped in. He certainly doesn’t _feel_ free. 

The man makes a queasy sound. “Now I really appreciate the free chiropractic session you’re giving me, but can one of you cut me down already? I’m starting to see more spots than Cruella DeVille here.”

Kaine looks to Ben and Peter on the floor with the usual silent question. Peter’s too busy idly rubbing at his throbbing ankle to answer, but Ben shakes his head. According to their Sense, the man doesn’t pose a threat.

With a flicker of arm muscles, Kaine’s stinger pops out of his wrist. The man flinches hard when the sharp stinger extends extremely close to his face, and Kaine climbs higher on his own webline to reach the man's bindings. The eldest spider presses a foot to the man’s chest to gently swing him over the couch before cutting him free.

“Son of a -- !” The man grunts as he drops headfirst into the couch like a sack of potatoes. As soon as he rights himself, Ben launches a web to secure his hand to the armrest. The man squeaks at the sudden feeling of lukewarm, sticky web on his bare skin. "Hey -- !"

Kaine returns to the ground, wiping the blood from where his wrists split open on his sweatpants. The eldest spider kicks at some of the bag stuff the man brought, licking away the rest of the blood trailing languidly down to his elbow.

“Does it...hurt when you do that, kid?” The man asks Kaine, innocently. 

Kaine stills, mouth still pressed to his wrist. Of course it does, Peter thinks. Kaine’s complained about it ever since they were little, but only around each other, of course -- Warren doesn’t like whiners. He often talked of the odd way the stingers sometimes rub up against other muscles and sinews beneath his skin, and how when they have to break through, they oftentimes have to pierce through barely-healed flesh. It sorta grossed Peter out -- he’s secretly glad he didn’t get anything like that.

“No,” Kaine lies, like he would to the Doctor.

Something passes over the man’s eyes, dark and hurting. It’s the same look that the gyro lady had that first night on the run, and those people on the street had when trying to stop them, the same look Maria Hill had when trying to interrogate him with her stupid questions -- but its like something clicks this time, and Peter finally realizes what this expression means. 

Pity. He’s looking at them with pity. Why?

The man shifts on the couch, and the spiders growl and fake-lunge in warning. Kaine thwips another web, gluing his forearm to the armrest as well. Now the man can only sit or stand awkwardly. 

“C’mon, kid…” The man sighs. “What do I have to do to make you trust me?” He gestures to the spilled contents of the bag on the floor. “Hey look, I brought some sweets and a few toys for you three, as a...er, a housewarming gift. There’s also your old clothes in there too, somewhere.”

Peter and Ben creep closer to the bag to sift more thoroughly through the mess. Kaine stands on the coffee table, keeping guard. Sure enough, Peter pulls out three plastic bags full of clothes they got from their outing with Wade. He places them to the side in a neat stack. 

“I, uh, hey -- Peter,” Peter's head snaps up when the man addresses him directly. The man points at the now pinkish-red gauze running across his nose. “I don’t blame you for this, you know. I get why you did it.”

Peter narrows his eyes. More nonsense. A trap, maybe?

They dig through the contents of the bag. They soon have two neat piles, one of foodstuff and the other their plastic bags of clothes, though the last two objects give the boys pause.

Ben turns a shark plush as long as his forearm over in his hands, giving the thing an experimental squeeze and tapping at its hard plastic eyes. Peter finds a plastic, animal-shaped robot that was kicked under one of the couches. 

“Sorry that they’re not really things teenagers like, it was all I had on hand at the moment,” the man apologizes. “We’ll get you more stuff soon, games, clothes, food, you name it.”

Peter doesn’t really know what to do with the plastic robot dog, and Ben seems to be equally bemused as well. They put both strange gifts into their own separate pile, unsure of whether or not to keep them.

“Did they ever give you toys?” The man asks. “I mean, I saw the rope swings and rubber balls, but did they ever give you games to play?”

Toys? Why does that matter to him? 

“Tic-tac-toe on the glass, “ Ben pipes up. “We had markers.” 

Oh! That’s right. Lab techs would pass by their room, and if they weren’t busy enough, they’d stay for a game or two or just draw an ‘O’ in a square and leave. 

“That’s it?” The man questions, and his tone leaves Peter stumped. What else do you need to have fun in your downtime? How on earth are you supposed to play with a soft, immovable fish? Or a tiny plastic dog? 

Ben frowns, “Why do you care?”

The man sighs again, and drags a hand through his greasy hair. 

“I...know it’s difficult for you to understand, especially now, but that place, those doctors, should never have treated you that way. You deserved better.”

Peter huffs and sits cross-legged on the floor to cradle his hurt ankle. The man doesn’t understand, the lab was perfect. It was -- _is_ home. It’s safe. They’ll eventually get out of here and --

“You don’t have to be their little soldiers or experiments or whatever anymore. You can finally be kids like you're supposed to.”

No, no. More nonsense. Their place is in the lab. Its…

“You will never go back to that place again. You’re free.”

Peter's grip on his sprained ankle is lost on him until his injury starts to pulse under his fingertips.

Free? This is what freedom feels like? Like he's been ripped from warm safety and tossed into a dark sea, frothing waves of uncertainty pressing in on him from all sides, trapping and drowning him like a bug in a pool? Is freedom supposed to feel like the cool bands flush against his wrists and the tremble in his bones? Is freedom supposed to smell like the metallic blood stench pooled on the floor and smeared on his brother’s pant legs?

Peter gets a hold of himself to hiss, “You don’t understand…W-We’ll…”

The man cuts him off, “I know, I get that this is a monumental change, especially on top of the week you guys just had, but this is the safest place for you to be right now.” The man’s tone is sickeningly soothing as he continues, “That lab is gone, and I’d sooner eat glass before you go back to rot in those cells at SHIELD.” 

Home's gone? Gone? Sure, it was sort of empty and destroyed when they went back but... No, he has to believe that they’ll go back to the lab, back home, because if they can’t it’ll be... too much. Too much to bear thinking about. He takes a quiet, shuddering breath of his own. 

Kaine asks, “What happens now?” Is this the part where he says he wants to cut them open to figure out their mutations? Sell them off to be used as target practice? Keep them as pets? Even if Peter’s Sense is deathly quiet, those things are all people want out of mutants, isn’t it? Everyone’s afraid of them, their powers, and Dr. Connors says people will do awful things to those they fear.

“We’re going to figure things out, one step at a time,” The man says. “We’re going to let you be simply kids. Nothing more, nothing less. None of this is your fault. You were born into a situation you couldn't control, and taken advantage of by people with awful intentions.”

Peter bites his bottom lip. Of course none of this is his fault, it’s the red-and-gold mech-turned-man’s. He was the one who broke into their home. 

The sun has fully set now, bathing the living room in the deep purple of night. Only the lights in the ceiling they had Karen dim earlier diffuse a little bit of light into the space. Peter and his brothers can see perfectly well at this low level of light, but the man must not. His foot fumbles around before he finally kicks a package of those soft, pink ball-shaped things towards the spiders who were too nervous to approach him for it earlier. 

“Those are apparently really good, by the way. My daughter loves them. Never really understood the appeal, though.” The man tugs at the webbing holding his arm and hand to the armrest. “Uhm. Okay, would you like me to stay while you shuffle through that stuff?”

Ben makes a small noise, “It’s not up to us.”

The man rubs his eye with the heel of his free hand, sounding more tired than before. “Uh, _yeah_ it is. This is your space now.” He cuts off a yawn. “Your floor, your rules. Also I’m sorta glued to furniture at the moment, I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.”

After a moment of silent deliberation, Kaine cautiously goes over to the armrest. 

“You don’t have to use your arm things if it hurts, kid,” the man says. “There’s probably a perfectly good knife or something in the drawers over there.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” Kaine lies again. “And a knife’s not sharp enough.”

* * *

The man waves goodbye as he leaves, ending with a goodnight and a promise to be back tomorrow. 

After he’s gone, the spiders sit alone with their thoughts for what feels like hours, wrapping themselves in the heavy blanket of silence. Ben pokes idly at one of the packages of sweets, something called Oreos, but no one seems to be hungry.

When they finally collect themselves, they explore the rest of the floor. The living room's too open to sleep in, so they pick one of the three bedrooms. It's lavish, with a tall ceiling and wide dressers, and a large king-sized bed with silky-soft sheets sits comfortably against the wall. The room's a navy blue color, but looks almost black in the dim atmosphere. The bed's too unprotected too, just laying there on the ground, so they collectively build a thick sheet of webbing that hangs in the middle of the room like a giant hammock. It’s high enough above the floor so that if the man came back, he wouldn’t be able to reach them.

The bed is raided and stripped of its sheets, comforters and pillows, serving as the soft finishing touches to their makeshift web-hammock. 

Moving around each other like they’re made of glass, they all try to get comfy in the mass of web and cotton. Peter curls up next to Kaine, knocking their shoulders together, and Ben takes his place on the eldest’s opposite side.

“How’s your leg?” Ben whispers to Peter, as if they were back at home trying to not make noise after light’s out.

“Only a sprain,” Peter whispers back. It barely even hurts now. 

It feels good to be next to his brothers again, feeling their grounding warmth, hearing their heartbeats. He burrows deeper into Kaine’s side, pulling the thick duvet tighter around himself to try and chase that familiar comfort. After being forced to sleep apart while in the hands of Fury, he never wants to leave their sides again. He tries to focus on their heartbeats, the low hum of an air conditioning unit somewhere in the walls, but he can’t seem to fall asleep. 

He’s not the only one having trouble. The web shifts and bounces with every little movement and adjustment. 

Frustrated, Peter turns over and stares at the blank ceiling above him. There’s a tightness in his chest he can’t shake, no matter how many times he tries to force it down or beat it back. 

_“You will never go back to that place again. You’re free.”_

***

_A twelve-year-old Peter hangs upside down by his knees on a rope, bagel crumbs falling to the floor as he munches away. Kaine is still down by the long breakfast tray, picking away at the selection of fruit slices and yogurt cups._

_Once the bagel’s gone, Peter swings upwards and runs along the rope to a hidebox in the far corner. A baby blue blanket spills out of one of the entrances, and Peter scurries up to his target. He tugs hard on the blanket, yanking it off the hidebox's sole remaining occupant and letting it flutter to the ground below._

_Ben grumbles at the rude awakening, curling harder into himself. Peter's younger brother kicks out at him. “G’way…”_

_“You’re missing breakfast!” Peter chirps. If he doesn’t get out soon it will disappear back into the wall! And lunch is never as tasty as breakfast!_

_Peter squeezes his way into the hidebox, mussing his brother's gold hair around. Ben growls and shoves him away, “L’ve me ‘lone Pete...”_

_The brunette grins devilishly, and starts to pull his brother out by his legs._

_Ben yelps as the hidebox is suddenly replaced by air. “Peter!”_

_“Breakfast!” Peter whines._

_Ben lands a solid kick to Peter’s chest, and Peter lets go, laughing and catches himself on a rope swing. Ben, awake now, continues his attack, now more playful than angry. Peter has to dodge a hand that comes to snag the collar of his black t-shirt._

_Peter brachiates gracefully down through the descending levels of ropes, followed closely by Ben. The youngest spider eventually catches up, tackling him from behind to sail onto the floor with a solid whoomph. Peter squeaks as all the air pushes out of his chest._

_The two go rolling across the ground, one over the other until they blow past Kaine and crash right into the breakfast tray. Ben has Peter pinned to the tray, and yogurt and squashed fruit immediately soaks Peter’s hair and shirt, chilling his skin._

_Kaine growls, holding his precious handful of blueberries away from the carnage._

_Not wanting to let Ben escape unscathed, Peter grins and grabs one of the many smoothies on display. He splashes the green liquid on his brother’s face._

_Ben squeals and backs off, letting Peter sit up. The mashed fruit and yogurt seep uncomfortably down the back of Peter’s shirt and pants._

_Kaine’s unimpressed. “I am_ **_not_ ** _going to be the one telling Connors about this.”_

_A while later, the punishment of having to sit around in their boxers while their clothes are washed is made worth it to just bask under the warmth of the heat lamp._

_***_

_Peter stops the mech’s fist before it can connect, held at bay just an inch from his nose. The hulking figure towers over Peter, its face contorted in an awful grimace framed by a shiny golden headbandy-thing. Every inch of this mech is rippling muscle, and a golden band stretches over its bare chest that matches the skirt that covers its waist._

_Peter wishes that the Doctors would give these things actual names so he wouldn’t have to call it Muscle-Man Number Whatever in his head all the time. This one's is easily up there with the heaviest hitters, though. It’s a close tie between this one and the one with the dumb hammer for the title of Peter’s Least Favorite Mech and Maybe Worst Nightmare award._

_As Peter distracts, his brothers search for an opening. Ben dives for its legs, knocking the thing out from under itself. Peter, panting and sweating, breaks away as soon as it lands with a heavy thud on the training mat._

_It’s not enough time to go for a kill. Muscle-Man rights himself in the blink of an eye, silently snarling at he and his circling brothers._

_Connors calls from the sidelines, tapping a stopwatch. “That was a clean sweep, Ben. Hurry it up.”_

_The praise spurs them on, and they start to circle tighter. Kaine and Ben both rush the mech at once, dividing its attention in two separate directions, while Peter jumps up to a nearby hanging wall, getting into position. His brothers web the mechs legs to the floor at the same time they do its arms, pulling them taught across its body. One of the hulking arms breaks free, and Kaine has to frantically re-web and pull it tighter so it can’t have the chance to fully free itself._

_In position, Peter drops onto the mech’s shoulders, wrapping his legs around where its windpipe would be if it was living. Muscle-Man struggles viciously, trying to shake Peter off and free its mighty arms from the tight web-snares his brothers have it in._

_Peter looks to where the Doctors are watching expectantly._

_“Break it,” Warren orders, not looking up from his clipboard._

_Peter unwraps his legs from the mech’s neck. He takes a good hold of it’s jaw, positioning his feet in the middle of its hairy back. The mech’s mechanical spine snaps with a sickening crack, and the thing falls lifeless onto the mat._

_Panting, Peter and his brothers untangle themselves from the mech and hurry to kneel on the mat in front of the Doctors._

_Connors goes over to appraise the mech first and order someone to go put it away to be fixed later, leaving the spiders alone on the mat with Warren._

_Warren examines the battle damage they took while fighting. When it’s Peter’s turn, the Doctor's stern hand roughly turns his face to the side and his greying mustache quirks into a frown when he spots the nasty bruise on his jaw where Muscle-Man got a lucky punch in. He rubs a thumb over the purpling blotch, eliciting a wince from the spider._

_“Is it broken, Three?” He asks._

_“No, sir,” he’s quick to answer._

_“Hrm. Be more careful next time,” the Doctor says._

_The spiders straighten up when Dr. Connors finally comes over. His touches are nowhere near as rough as Dr. Warren’s. Peter internally starts to quiver in excitement -- he did the best out the three, he knows it! Kaine fumbled a catch and a command, and Ben wasn’t fast enough to end it when he knocked the mech down! He preformed the best!_

_Dr. Connors draws a long gaze over the spiders kneeling on the mat._ _The one-armed Doctor smiles, “You did good today, boys. You dispatched it in under 20 minutes; a very impressive time for one of your toughest opponents. And with minor injuries, no less!”_

_They all beam at the praise._

_Then there’s a hand in his hair. Peter’s lips part in a silent gasp before he closes his eyes, leaning eagerly into the touch. The Doctor’s only hand drags languidly through his locks, gentle fingers carding through his curly hair in tender, kind strokes. Peter desperately tries to savor the contact, inwardly bubbling over with happiness. He did the best! Dr. Connors is proud of him!_

_“Good job, Peter,” Connors praises._

_The Doctor’s hand pulls away from his hair just as quickly as it came. He doesn’t give the other two spiders an affectionate touch._

_Peter wears the smile he has for the rest of the day, falling fast asleep with a warm feeling seated deep in his chest._

_***_

Something twists itself painfully in Peter’s breast.

_“You will never go back to that place again. You’re free.”_

He hears Ben’s breath hitch, the sudden spasm of his chest sending a gentle shockwave through the rest of the web-nest. 

Peter’s own breath hitches in kind, his airway shuttering as he tries to get a hold of himself. He hiccoughs softly into the blankets. Peter tries to take a deep breath but something in his airway closes, a lump rising to the back of his throat. 

They’re all that’s left. The lab's...gone. Peter lets the thought wash over his mind, seeping at the edges like a creeping river of lava. The life they once knew is _gone_. Smashed, hollowed-out, emptied, abandoned underground somewhere. They haven’t seen anyone since that day, not Connors, not Warren -- not even a mech!

They’re all that’s left. They’re all they _have_ left. 

Peter hiccoughs again and balls the blankets into his face, trying to quell the sudden flow of hot tears down his cheeks. Ben starts to sniffle as well, and Kaine’s breathing picks up, heaving and shuttering. 

Mourning takes over. Peter and his brothers suddenly sit up in the web to cling onto each other. Peter instinctively fists his hands into the fabric of Kaine’s shirt, keening pitifully into the eldest’s heaving shoulders. A whimpering Ben then wriggles himself between them, his damp cheek pressing against Peter’s own. 

_It’s gone. Home’s gone._ The thought curls itself around his heart, prickly and razor sharp, settling home behind his hollow sternum.

_“You’re free.”_

Peter throws his head back and begins to wail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor peter :(
> 
> The mech they fought in the flashback was Hercules, my outline originally had Elektra, but...she's like a secret assassin, why would they have a LMD of her? So I chose Herc because why not :o He will likely never show up again, lol.
> 
> And we have our first showcase of how touch-starved the boys are! All they want is a parental figure that's proud of them :)
> 
> Hope everyone had a good valentines day!
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	12. rest and regroup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony returns, and the boys experience their first morning at the Compound.  
> Explanations are given and first steps are made.

A very, very tired Tony Stark steps out of the elevator onto one of the many common floors of the new Avengers compound. In front of him is a handful of Avengers, sitting on sofas and a barstools huddled around a television playing surveillance footage of the room, courtesy of Karen. Natasha, Clint, and Bruce all turn away from the TV to face him as he enters into the much brighter living space. 

Clint slings an arm over the back of the couch. “You’re back! And you still have all ten fingers! You have no idea how close we were to running up there when they had you just dangling like the world’s ugliest piñata.”

“Thank you very much for _not_ doing that,” Tony says, rubbing at his eyelids. Yeah, not his smartest play -- forgetting about the whole _wall-crawling_ thing. To be fair, teenagers hiding on the _ceiling_ is not something one would normally expect. 

“Are you hurt?” Bruce asks from the opposite end of the couch. 

Tony can feel fresh blood drip down the back of his throat from where his face smashed into the floor. “My nose is bleeding again, but not broken. Other than that? Nah.” He was right in his assumption that they wouldn’t attack unless provoked. They seemed apprehensive to even approach him, but made it clear they aren't afraid to fight back if he gave them reason to. It's better than being out-and-out violent. Thoughtfully, he wipes his bloody nose with the collar of his t-shirt. 

Natasha shifts in her barstool seat, nodding towards his arm. “Nasty bruise you have forming there." 

He turns his arm around, and yeah, it looks pretty bad. In bright shades of blotchy purple and sickly green, you can clearly see a set of fingers wrapping around his whole forearm as if the kid had dipped his hand in paint before grabbing him. He runs a light touch over the bruised skin, the injury sending small twinges of pain up to his elbow.

“Yeah, kid’s got a grip of solid steel. It’s no biggie.”

Natasha folds her arms on the back of the barstool. “It wouldn’t be ‘no biggie’ if he decided to grab your neck instead.”

“Jesus, you sound just like Fury,” Tony exhales, dragging his hands down his face. “Sure, he _could have_ , but he _didn’t_. He just wanted me to drop the remote.”

Bruce gets up and walks over with a handkerchief, offering it to the billionaire after the edge of his t-shirt is too soaked with blood to properly wipe any more away. The green giant asks, “What are you going to do about that anyway? We don’t have a safe way of defusing dangerous situations anymore, should they arise.”

Tony gratefully accepts the cloth and waves a dismissive hand in the air. “I’ll get Karen and Friday to synchronize with the frequency of their bands. We can dose them that way if anything really crazy happens, but only as a last resort. Like, ‘Kaine’s arm knives are in my chest’ sort of last resort.”

“Why didn’t you dose them as soon as they strung you up? That seems like quite a dangerous position to allow yourself to be in,” Natasha questions.

Is she serious? Tony pinches the handkerchief over his nose. “Because dosing them would only exacerbate this whole problem. Would you feel safe if you felt like you could be paralyzed at the drop of a hat? They’re allowed to act on their emotions without fear of being drugged into a stupor. Like I said, using the bands is only a last resort.”

Tony goes over to lean on the bar counter. “Hell, honestly the remote being smashed is a good thing! They probably feel safer than ever right now!”

Like the punchline of a bad joke, Friday’s voice cuts through the room, interrupting their conversation. _“Boss, Karen has alerted me that the boys are currently experiencing acute distress.”_

Tony’s head snaps up from where he was running tired fingers through his hair. “What?”

The TV shows an angle from the dark living room, the pile of food and clothes left abandoned near the coffee table. The kids are nowhere to be seen. 

“Fri, show us the kids.”

The TV switches to one of the bedrooms, half of the hidden camera lens covered in webbing. There’s a huge mat of the substance that stretches from wall to wall, meeting in a giant hammock covered in bedding in the middle of the room. The bedding is arranged in a circle, like some funny facsimile of a messy bird's nest, and in the center of the mess of silk and cotton are all three kids. 

They’re pressed together, heaving and sobbing and shaking apart on the web. One of them has his head thrown back in an anguished caterwaul and the haunted noise echoes through the speakers and around the common floor. He watches them clutch onto each other, trying to draw each other impossibly closer, the other two breaking out into keening sobs that they try to muffle in each others clothes.

Tony’s heart constricts like it’s being squeezed by an angry Hulk. His first instinct is to rush back up there, but he knows that in the delicate state they’re in it would likely only upset them more. They asked him to leave, after all. The kids’ wails ring with deep, hurting grief and each piercing cry that tears its way out from behind gritted teeth sends a spear of pain right through his heart. 

Did he do that? Was it something he said? He croaks weakly, “Was...Was I too harsh in saying that the lab they came from is gone? Was that the wrong thing to say?”

Over the keening whines echoing from the television, Natasha softly says, “No, they would have understood eventually. Better sooner rather than later.”

Tony’s heart sinks. This doesn’t sound like them realizing that the lab is gone -- that would have been obvious to them, wouldn’t it? They went back, they saw how thorough SHIELD was at clearing the place out. No, this feels like they’re grieving the loss of a life they once had.

Clint turns down the volume on the TV, shaking his head. “Sorry, it’s just...”

Tony fists his hands in his hair, his nose grazing the cool marble of the bar counter. 

Natasha’s hand comes to rest on his back. “You need to explain the entire situation to them, everything. They have to know the stakes they’re up against -- all the whys, whats and hows you can give them. If you keep dancing around the important topics with simple promises of ‘being safe here’ or ‘you’re free’, they’re not going to get it and will keep resisting.”

Tony nods slightly. He was going to explain the situation in more depth to them, but that whole plan got, quite literally, flipped upside-down. Then he was doubly distracted by the way Kaine’s enhancements self-mutilate him and how the kid seemed _okay_ with it. The boy froze up like no one had asked him if it hurt in years, maybe even his entire life, and then the kid felt it was necessary to lie about it. 

Natasha’s right, he needs to keep this in perspective. These are three near-adult boys who have absolutely no reference point in which to judge what a normal life should look like. Promises about being free and whatever are useless if the recipients don’t know what _free_ or _safe_ are supposed to mean in the first place. He needs to go about this in a different way.

Exhaustion pulls heavy on his eyelids. How long has it been since he slept? Two days? Two and a half?

He spares a glance at the screen again. Their caterwauls have died down to mere broken sobs punctuated with fits of bitten-off whimpers, the boys desperately comforting each other in the darkness of the room. 

Tony picks himself off the bar and drags his feet towards the elevator to retreat to his own floor for a well deserved, week-long coma. “Yeah, I’ll try to explain everything tomorrow. Let me know if anything happens.”

* * *

_“Oh baby, you’re the only thing in this whole world that’s pure and good and right…”_

Tony jerks awake on the workshop couch to the sound of his ringtone.

_“ -- and wherever you are and wherever you go, there’s always gonna be some light -- ”_

He sits up, the handkerchief that was covering his eyes falling into his lap with a damp plop. He fumbles around for the phone before the loud chorus has a chance to start. He finally finds it, turning the screen over to see the caller ID.

_Click._

The billionaire rubs the sleep out of his eyes, smiling when he sees Pepper’s face appear on the screen. “Hey Pep,” he croaks.

Her eyes widen when she finally sees him. “Hey how -- _Jesus_ , what happened to you? You look like you took a semi to the face!”

“Thanks. I certainly feel that way.” He spares a look at the clock. Five o’clock in the morning. He’s been asleep for roughly ten hours but it feels like only minutes. 

“I...take it the introduction didn’t go well?” Pepper says, worry creasing her features. 

“Just swimmingly. Peter got a lucky punch in, but this shiner is more Fury’s fault than his. You should’ve seen the way Fury was keeping them. They were stressed out of their minds, Pep.”

Pepper makes a interested noise. "Peter? Is that one of --"

A smaller voice perks up over the line. _“Peter?!_ Did you figure out their names? Did I guess right?” Morgan chirps, and the phone shakes as Pepper fights to accommodate both of their faces on the screen. The four-year-old blinks dumbly when she finally sees her father. “Your face looks crazy.”

Tony smiles, “Thanks, Mo.”

Morgan leans closer to the phone screen. “What’s that on your face? You look like a mummy.”

“It’s a big band-aid,” he answers. “Peter was angry and hit me pretty hard.”

Morgan pouts. “That’s mean!”

Pepper cuts in, “Are they settled in?” 

Tony rubs more sleep out of his eye, sitting up to lean back comfortably on the workshop’s couch. “Er, they’re definitely _in_ , but not _settled_. They’re living on the top floor of the west wing. They’re -- uh, actually, I’ll just show you.”

He puts the phone down to grab his Starkpad, quickly asking Friday to pull up a live feed of the kids, wherever they are. He holds up the tablet to the phone. “Here they are.”

Two of the boys are fast asleep, but Kaine is wide awake, sitting up on the web and sort of slumped over in clear exhaustion. Ben’s head is cradled in the teen's lap while Peter is curled around Kaine like an oversized snake, belly pressed up against the eldest’s lower back. All their faces are twisted in worry and both Ben and Peter are twitching slightly in their sleep.

“Is that one playing lookout?” Pepper asks. 

He watches Kaine drag calming fingers through Ben’s short hair after a particularly violent twitch. “Yeah, I think he is,” Tony sighs. 

“Poor kids…” Pepper murmurs.

“Are they why you won’t let us come home?” Morgan pipes up. She juts her bottom lip out in a over-the-top pout. “Have you replaced me?” She says, but the accusation has that cheeky lilt to it that let’s Tony know she’s joking.

“Oh, I don’t know -- what’s the trade-in deal for three teenage mutants in exchange for one normal four-year-old girl? Peace of mind for once?” Tony tiredly huffs, and Morgan giggles. “You’ll be able to come home in a week or so. Hopefully they’ve calmed down by that time.” 

Pepper sighs, “Okay, but remember you have other responsibilities besides those three, alright? Don’t let the company tank because you tunnel-visioned out on helping a few strays.”

“Company? But that’s what I have you for, Peps,” he winks as well as he can muster with his good eye. Pepper makes a decidedly unamused face.

“We’ll talk about that later,” she deadpans. 

They talk for a few more minutes with sleep beckoning Tony back into its dreamy abyss with every blink, until Pepper notices how wiped out he is and lets him go. 

After their usual goodbye, she says, “Be careful, okay, Tony?” 

“Always,” he ends, rubbing at the scratchy gauze.

* * *

After another hours-long power nap, he manages to pull himself away from the couch to get to work.

He needs to go about approaching them, talking to them, and relating to them in a different way. Yesterday was the prototype, so to say. Today has to be the alpha build -- better, stronger, more prepared.

He pours over the files again, soaking up every little bit of personal information that there is of the boys, which there is painfully little of. There’s nothing written about their likes or dislikes, their hobbies (if they have any to begin with, given the circumstances), or their individual personalities -- even within the documents that come directly from the lab. Everything is upsettingly written without any attention to their individuality in mind, clinical and direct.

Even so, by late morning he has the beginnings of a game plan for the day, and with a quick check-in on Karen to make sure the boys are up and awake, he starts for the common floor to make breakfast. 

Although lacking in personal information, the files are infinitely informative on everything else -- including dietary needs. He piles the biggest plate he can find with a tower of crunchy, burnt toast and two heaping servings of bacon and scrambled eggs, hopefully enough to fill the bellies of three growing teens with mutant appetites that rival the Captain’s. His cooking isn’t stellar, but it smells tasty enough, he hopes.

Food precariously balanced in his arms, he makes his way to the west wing elevator. He runs into Bruce along the way, and the green giant smiles and says he’s going to keep an eye on the situation from the common floor through Karen. 

In the elevator Friday gives him another heads-up. _“They have been alerted to your arrival.”_

Considering what happened last time, he can’t help but feel a little nervous as he takes light steps out into the hallway. Light streams in through the living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the place comfortably, but the ceiling lights are still dimmed. Enhanced senses, he realizes. Bright lights probably bother them.

He doesn’t go far, only a few feet at most, setting the cooling plate of breakfast down on the wooden floor. Learning from his mistakes, he gives the ceiling a searching once-over, but they’re not there.

“Kids? I have breakfast,” he calls out into the floor. He cranes his neck out into the living area, spotting that the clothes pile has been raided, but the snacks have been left where they are along with the two toys he pilfered from Morgan.

A thud sounds from one of the bedrooms to his right. He looks up to a blond boy peeking upside down from the bedroom doorway, blue hoodie slumping with the pull of gravity and threatening to consume his head.

“Hey, Ben,” he greets as cheerfully as he can. “Did you sleep well, kid?” The boy looks from Tony to the food and to Tony again, eyes narrowed. He disappears from the doorway.

After a moment, three more thuds sound. And Ben is back, with friends this time, all crowding around each other while they peek upside down through the doorway. Freaky. They too, send suspicious looks between the large plate of food and the man behind it.

“I brought breakfast,” he smiles disarmingly. The billionaire sits down on the wooden floor to make himself less threatening. “Bacon, eggs, and toast; the essentials.”

Slowly, Peter starts to crawl forward. He inches onto the ceiling, pauses, then makes his way down the hallway wall on all fours like a literal human spider. His methodical, predatory movements along the ceiling and wall are so over-the-top Tony gets the impression that the boy is fishing for some sort of reaction. When he reaches the floor, he crouches low, keeping a keen eye on Tony. He can feel the hard stares of the other two boring holes into him as well.

Tony scoots back to encourage him closer to the plate. “C’mon, it’s alright.”

Peter lunges forward. The boy snags the plate and drags it away, down the hallway and towards the living room. He yanks it away so hard that a few pieces of the toast tower tumble off the plate, and he leaves a trail of yellow, fluffy eggs in his wake.

Tony swipes up the pieces of toast that fell, but the kids left hanging in the doorway spring into action. A web snags the toast in his hand, and startled, Tony drops the food only for it to be reeled back into the hand of Ben before he swings over to his friend. 

All three boys crowd around the food at the end of the hallway, right on the threshold of the living room. Each of them is in a mish-mash of their old clothes and clothes they got from SHIELD, with Ben and Kaine in oversized hoodies and sweatpants and Peter only slipping his green jacket over the white shirt and gray sweatpants SHIELD gave them. Tony takes the few plastic forks he brought and slides them down the hall.

“Dig in,” he encourages. “It’s alright.”

Peter and Ben start to tentatively nibble away at the toast and eggs. When Kaine doesn’t immediately join in, he’s worried that he'll refuse food like he did back in SHIELD's custody, but as soon as he sees his friends start eating he quickly dives for the last fork.

They’re absolutely wolfish in their eating habits, and Tony idly wonders if they ever had anyone scold them for their table manners. Come to think of it, they’ve probably never eaten at a real table before. He can’t recall seeing any furniture of any sort in their cage back at the lab. Food is pushed carelessly around and off the plate as all three simultaneously try to scrape every last morsel onto their fork. 

Tony immediately realizes that one plate is, apparently, not nearly enough. He watches them meticulously pick up and eat every bit of egg and bacon piece, doing everything just shy of picking the plate up to lick away the toast crumbs. Once finished, the boys return their full attention to him with narrowed eyes.

Tony clears his throat. “First of all, I want to apologize if something I said yesterday hit too close to home. I would be upset too if someone said...those things to me,” he starts. Whether or not they needed to hear that, he just had to put it out there. If he didn’t get that off his chest it would have surely haunted him.

The boys don’t so much as twitch from their places around the plate. If anything, they look even more suspicious.

Here we go. Tony takes a deep breath, fully prepared to start explaining the situation to them. 

“Who do you work for?” Kaine interjects, sharply. “Do you work for the mutant hunters?”

Tony’s mouth clamps shut mid-breath. What?

“What?” The billionaire stutters.

The cleaned-off plate is kicked towards him, screeching lightly across the floor. It hits his folded knees with a light thunk. “You heard me,” Kaine says, lowly. “Are you a mutant hunter? Friends of mutant hunters? Ceiling lady says you’re not but she’s just a robot.”

Tony blinks. “‘Mutant hunter’...?”

Kaine hisses, frustrated, ”Like Fury! Like the metal man! Whatever!”

Metal man? _Oh_ , himself. Did the lab not tell them the names of the LMDs they were raised fighting against?

”No, no! I’m not...a ‘mutant hunter’,” he soothes. “And Fury’s a part of SHIELD, they don’t, uh,” he stammers.

”They caught us,” Peter growls, “And you seemed to act nice to Fury.”

”Because I was trying to help you!” Tony says. “He was going to keep you there, in the Fridge, separated until he had a place to shove you out of his way. I struck a deal with him to get you out of there.”

Ben shifts uncomfortably from where he sits on his ankles, legs tucked up into his huge blue hoodie. He looks impossibly younger in the oversized clothing. “You bought us?”

_”No!_ Absolutely not!” He points a finger at Ben, “And it disturbs me that that’s the first thing that pops into your scruffy teenage head. Maybe ‘deal’ isn’t the right word. I _convinced_ Fury to let you guys live here instead, and not in a cell in the Fridge or in a room at Headquarters.”

”Why?” Kaine asks.

”’ _Why?’_ Are you serious, kid? I feel like we’re going in circles here,” Tony runs his hands through greying hair. “Look, I’m just trying to keep you out of worse hands. You’re here for six months and if you’re not adjusted by that time, Fury will come back and take you away.”

A chorus of incredulous noises spill from the boys.

”Six months?” “Adjusted?”

Kaine stuffs his hands in the pocket of his black hoodie and he hisses, “Adjusted to what?”

”Er, well. _Outside._ Not being in a glass cage day in and day out.” 

Peter pulls on his jacket strings and growls, “Not a cage…”

Tony compromises, “Okay, sure. Not a cage.” he says, before muttering under his breath, “It definitely _was_ , but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“If you’re not a mutant hunter, then what are you?” Kaine continues. 

“I’m not a mutant hunter! I’m a -- a friend of mutants! I have mutant friends!” Tony squawks. Jesus, since when did this become an interrogation? “I don’t know what you’ve been told, but there’s no such thing as mutant hunters!”

Peter bristles, the teen curling a little more into himself, “Liar! That’s how Doctor Connors lost his arm! Hunters cut it off for fun!”

“And then they ate it!” Ben adds.

Tony reels, shaking his head in disbelief. It feels like someone took a sledgehammer to his thought process. Connors, that was one of the names in the files, wasn’t it? He remembers that name plastered all over an interview transcript. Just what stories were those bastards feeding these kids? This sounds like something Morgan would spout about the monster under her bed!

Tony holds up his hands, trying to quell the rising tension in the air. He compromises again, “Yeah, okay. That’s awful. Really awful, I’m sorry that happened. Honestly, I’ve never heard of such a thing, but either way I’m not one of them _nor_ am I friends with anyone like that, okay?”

“How do we know?” 

Tony sputters uselessly. “Wh -- huh?”

“How do we know you’re not just lying to get us to let our guard down?” Kaine accuses.

“Wha -- ? Okay, look. I can’t prove myself to _not_ be something that _doesn’t exist_ in the first place,” he starts.

The boys growl in response, objecting vehemently. 

“You -- “ “You don’t under --” “Mutants -- ”

“ _Ah-ah!_ The adult is talking now,” he barks, stopping them before they have a chance to verbalize their complaints. He tried to be understanding, but Nat’s right, no more pussy-footing around the hard stuff. “I know what you’re going to say. Mutant hunters do this, mutant hunters did that. It’s obvious that they’ve told you some sick stuff about the outside world, and that’s okay. We’re going to work on that.”

“But if you really don’t want to believe me, let’s look at this objectively -- you guys are smart cookies, right? Here’s your options: you stay here for six months in a comfy top-floor suite, living and learning and healing in the sun, or you go back to Fury to live with him and his agents. Or would you like option three? You run away to live on the streets until SHIELD or somebody much, much _worse_ eventually catches you again when you’re weak and half-dead of starvation in an alley somewhere. Those are your choices. And frankly, I know which one I would pick.”

The floor suddenly is engulfed in a wave of silence as he allows his words to sink in. The boys have gone mute, all three mouths still hanging open as if they still have the venomous bite of a rebuttal on the tip of their tongues, until something shifts. Their mouths close and their brows scrunch together in confliction, before their eyes finally cast downward. In the tense moments that follow, the silence is only punctuated by the uncomfortable shift of fabric over wood floor as the boys anxiously squirm at the far end of the hallway. His heart pangs a little in guilt for being so horribly blunt when he sees Peter bite his lip and go glassy-eyed, but he can see the wheels turning in their heads. He has to make them understand they can’t go anywhere else, teenage stubbornness be damned. 

Kaine breaks the delicate silence, his once-accusatory voice now much more resigned. He fixes a hard stare right into Tony’s eyes when he asks, “...After the six months have ended, what happens to us?”

Tony nods, answering in the gentlest timbre he thinks he’s ever used, “We’ll find you a permanent home -- a lucky family that would love to take in three very special boys that have lived very special lives.”

For a few precious heartbeats Kaine seems to search his face for something, before his hard eye contact finally breaks. His gaze gently slides down to where his hands are balled in the fabric of his sweatpants, his long hair falling to obscure his eyes. Like popped balloons, the kids’ shoulders droop and their gazes return downward, visibly submitting to their situation. The tension in the air dissolves, only to be replaced by the heavy miasma of forced resignation. 

The great Iron Man musses a hand through his hair, uncomfortable with the heavy atmosphere but confident that what he’s told them is what they need to hear, no matter how guilty it makes him feel. “Okay, I think we need a fresh start, a clean slate. Let’s start over from the very beginning. I’m Tony Stark, head of Stark Industries, a tech company. And you three are Ben, Peter, and Kaine, boy wonders.”

The teens maintain carefully neutral expressions with the sudden switch in topic. 

He gestures to the walls around him, “This place is an SI-owned secure compound, and also my home, sort of. I hope to eventually let you guys explore the whole place, but first -- ” Tony pushes aside the picked-clean plate and stands, ignoring the way the boys at the end of the hallway tense up. “ -- I want you guys to establish your own boundaries. Here. On your floor.”

Their faces twist minutely in confusion, so Tony clarifies. “You probably had people streaming in and out of your ca -- er, _room_ in the lab and your cells at SHIELD whenever they wanted, right? I don’t want you three to ever feel like I’m encroaching on your space, so if you could, uh, tell me where I’m allowed to be, I’ll be able to make sure I won’t cross into where I’m not, okay?” He figures that giving them their own space to retreat to when they feel overwhelmed, scared, or angry without the fear of strangers trailing in after them will help them relax a bit, and drawing those proverbial lines in the sand could possibly help them feel more in control of their situation.

The teens consider his words before huddling up to whisper quietly. A half-minute later, a consensus is apparently reached and Kaine turns back around to web a neat line from wall to wall where hallway meets living room, and then sling another sticky line in front of the bedroom they slept in last night. Tony sags a little in relief. He’s just been allowed the hallway and the two other empty hallway-adjacent bedrooms. It’s honestly a lot more leeway than he thought they would give him, especially after that whole spiel about starving in alleys and whatnot! He honestly would have been satisfied if they confined him to only a few inches outside the elevator.

“Okay, great!” He claps once in relief, missing the way the sound makes the boys flinch. “You’ve just completed step one of the not-yet-patented Stark Recovery Program! I won’t cross those lines unless you allow me to.”

“Why should we trust that you won’t do it anyways?” Kaine says, giving him a nervous, side-eyed glance.

“Your floor, your rules, remember? This is your space, and people in the _outside world_ like to respect each other's space, so that's what I'm going to do. From now on, no one has the authority to enter your bubble or whatever else without your explicit permission.” Tony holds his hands out to his sides, “And hey, if you ever happen to find me crossing those lines you put down, you have my full permission to string me up again, or glue me to a wall, whatever.”

They look taken aback by that declaration. Ben murmurs, “Really?”

“‘Course! But there is one more thing about the deal I made with Fury that I have to tell you, though. You can’t hurt anyone. I’m not sure how Fury’s going to exactly enforce that rule, but if it does happen I immediately have to give you three back to him.” Tony squats down on his knees. “But that should be easy to avoid now since I’ve told it to you, right?” 

Peter croaks, “What if someone tries to hurt _us?_ ”

“No one here means you any harm, and I’m the only one who can access this floor,” he answers, “But if someone’s stupid enough to try and take on three spider-powered teenagers by themselves, you guys can just call on me to help, okay? You could also use your, uh, webs to stop them if you have to. Y’know, non-violently.”

The billionaire checks his watch. “Ah, if you guys don’t have any more pressing questions, I’m gonna go again, but I’ll be back around soon to drop off some lunch.” He looks between the boys at the far end of the hallway before standing up again. “Is there anything you would like in particular food-wise? Favorite soda maybe? Favorite sandwich? Or if you want, like, a coloring book or a video game I can bring something like that too.” 

The teens shift in place, gazed averted and searching the wood tiling as if they’re uncomfortable with lingering on the question or could find the answers scrawled into the wood grain. 

“Hey, I want to make your stay here as comfortable as possible. If you don’t give me something to work with, I’m sorta at a loss here.” 

Ben wrings his hands in his hoodie pocket, eyes cast downward, “It doesn’t matter what we like. We’ll eat it. Don’t worry.”

Oh, Tony thought they were just being evasive. Do they...not have favorites? Do they think they’re not allowed to have favorites? 

“Are you just not wanting to tell me, or do you really not know what you like?” Tony asks, leaning down to collect the abandoned plate.

They don’t answer. Their heads bow towards the floor and their hands anxiously mess with their sweatpants strings.

Iron Man sighs deeply. “Okay. That’s okay. Hey,” He snaps his fingers, drawing their attention up to him. He smiles into the unsure, scruffy faces that greet him. “That just means it’ll be more fun when we figure it out together, yeah?”

Tony smiles, scratching at the gauze wrapped around his nose. His fidgeting dislodges something in his sinuses, allowing him to get a non-coppery breath of fresh air for the first time in a while, while also allowing him to realize the air isn’t fresh at all. The floor stinks like an adolescent locker room. 

“Also, side note, it smells like teenage stank in here. How long has it been since any of you showered?”

“A week, maybe,” Peter mumbles. 

“Lord help me.” He points to the bedroom he’s not allowed to enter. “There’s a bathroom connected to your bedroom in there. Use it, _por favor.”_ He spins on his heel to leave, but freezes as a thought strikes him. “Er...have you used a shower before?” He can’t immediately recall what the files said their bathroom situation was like in the lab, and the billionaire can’t help the ugly images that start to conjure themselves up in his mind. They weren’t hosed off against a wall or something, right?

“We know what a shower is,” Kaine answers finally, and Tony nearly melts in relief.

“Good. Awesome.” Tony starts for the elevator. “I’ll see you again in a little bit. Ask Karen if you have any more questions.”

* * *

Tony nearly trips over himself as he jogs out of the elevator and into the common floor. He passes by Bruce on the couch, who turns around from where he was watching Karen’s live feed of the kids’ floor, and hurriedly dumps the plate in the sink. 

The billionaire spins around, hands braced behind him on the edge of the sink and meets Bruce’s amused stare. 

Somehow it feels like he’s just ran a marathon, totally winded after crossing over some sort of invisible finish line. He takes a deep breath. “That...That went well. Right?”

The green giant smiles even brighter, “Yeah, really well. You didn’t get attacked this time, so I call that a win.”

Tony hurries over to the back of the couch so he can see the television clearly. “Are they okay? Are they upset at all?”

“No, they’re okay. Just quiet,” Bruce waves a hand at the screen, “After you left they went and sat down in the living room.”

On the screen, he sees them seated around the coffee table, clustered close together around the pile of snacks he left the night before. They poke idly at one of the packages of pink Snoballs. The package is opened, and the marshmellowy treat is shared among them in a much more subdued manner than the wolfish fervor unleashed upon the plate of hot breakfast. 

Bruce lurches off the couch, leaving to go do something else now that the entertainment has ended. As he goes, he taps Tony on the shoulder, reassuring, “You did good. I think they’re going to be okay.”

Tony watches them as they gently, softly nibble away at the sweets, their demeanor revealing an underlying air of frailness that contradicts their supposed status as engineered, organic weapons and lab rats. There are kids buried somewhere deep in there -- teens that strive to rebel against parents, hang out with friends, and develop lovesick crushes -- he knows it, and he'll find it, eventually. 

Yeah. They'll be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write! I hope everything made sense. :o
> 
> Tony's ringtone for Pepper is 'Bat Out of Hell' by Meat Loaf -- AKA, the number one song I blast from my car whenever I want to be a neighborhood menace (it also feels like a song Tony would like a lot! Give it a listen if you have a few minutes!)
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who takes the time to write a comment, bookmark, or kudos! I love you all!
> 
> Next chapter: Settling in, Tony maybe-sorta gets a little jealous when he finds out they trust/like a certain someone a little more than him. :) And hopefully we finally have the introduction of Bobbi? But honestly my outlines off the rails at this point so who knows! No promises!


	13. pecking order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise between the spiderkids, Tony struggles, and the kids meet someone new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG chapter to make up for LONG wait! I rewrote some parts maybe a half-dozen times, I hope everything makes sense! 
> 
> Thanks so much for being patient w me!

Peter turns his face up towards the warm heat of the showerhead. The water runs across his face and down his body, dampening his curly hair to lay flat against his forehead. He shakes his head once, twice, and water flies off his locks to land against the frosted glass door and tile walls of the shower. 

The shower is quickly becoming the first outside-world thing Peter’s actually starting to enjoy. He’s never had one like this before -- so unbelievably warm and not simply gushing out of a single spigot, with countless meaningless buttons that change the way the water shoots out of the showerhead. It’s all bewildering, honestly. 

He looks down at his hands and sees the deliciously hot water redden his skin as it washes away a weeks-worth of grime. The black bands around his wrists blink green rhythmically, a constant reminder of his entrapment. The skin around the bands is a sore red with electricity burns, and the water does a good job of soothing the dull pain there.

Karen helpfully instructs what the little bottles tucked in the crevice in the shower wall are, and that’s all bewildering too. So many choices, so many different purposes for all this sweet-smelling goo! Regardless of purpose, he picks the nicest smelling one -- a coconut-scented body wash that reminds him of the lotion one nurse would always wear before taking his dailies. He remembers her tropical-scented hands flitting around his face and body like hurried butterflies made of chipped nail polish while she expertly drew blood, took temperatures, and assessed changes in his weight measurements.

The employees were always kind, and although it was never as special as getting affection from the Doctors, he can’t help but miss the gentle strokes up and down his arm while taking blood pressure, or the soft hands that would cup his jaw when they stuck the thermometer in his mouth. The employees were the familiar, nameless group of people who acted as their constant caretakers as far back as they can remember, always helping with the monotonous stuff: cleaning their room, preparing their food, doing check-ups, etcetera. And although it makes the sudden use of his designation all the more intimidating, Peter’s secretly grateful that they were kind enough to gift him a name, even if it’s just a placeholder for his real one at best.

Now, they’re just another thing that he’ll never see again. Another painful loss adding to the ever-growing empty feeling in his chest.

A knock at the bathroom door startles him out of his trance. Outside, his brother whines anxiously for his turn, “ _Peterrr…_ ”

Smelling like he’d just taken a dip in a piña colada, Peter steps back out onto the cold bathroom tile. He dresses in the outfit he got from Wade, zipping the green jacket snugly to his chin to keep out the chill. 

He lets Ben in, and he slides down to take Ben’s spot against the door, tussling his wet hair around with an impossibly soft towel. Beside him, doused in his own perfume of orangey-citrus, Kaine hands him another Snoball as they wait for the youngest to finish.

Restless, Peter’s leg bounces as he chews. He lets his gaze drift around the bedroom. The web is sagging a little, the silk decaying and weighed down by the massive amount of pillows on it. They’ll need to reweb a lot of the support lines later tonight. The large windows are helpfully curtained off, blocking out that all-encompassing sunlight from spilling in. Although, it would probably be more helpful if they were opened. Peter’s body is struggling to keep warm against the cold floor and the thought of basking in a warm facsimile of their heatlamp sounds really comforting right about now. 

Karen chimes in, _“Peter, your body temperature is lower than average at the moment. Would you like me to turn up the heat?”_

Peter takes a petulant bite out of the Snoball. There she goes again. So sickly sweet, so painfully nice. It’s infuriating. He curls his arms around his legs, electing to ignore the robot.

Kaine pipes up anyways, “Yes, please.”

Peter scowls at his brother. He’s infuriating too. Why doesn’t he see the inherent wrongness of this whole situation?

Kaine unwraps a new treat, something labeled as a ‘Cosmic Brownie’ that absolutely stinks of sugar. He holds out a piece to Peter, whispering, “Hey, at least we don’t have to wait for someone to open the travel-duct doors for us here.”

Peter almost growls. He lightly bats his brother’s offering away. 

Kaine sours, “What’s with you? You’ve been acting like a dick ever since we left, why can’t you just chill out for a bit? You and Ben said it yourselves -- your Senses aren’t going off or whatever.”

Peter hisses under his breath, “ _That’s exactly the problem, Kaine!_ It should be going off, but it’s not!”

“How’s that a problem!” The eldest spider folds the brownie back in its packaging, placing it neatly aside. “You should just listen to it and get it through your thick skull that right now, for whatever reason, we’re okay! Stark clearly said that he wasn’t going to hurt us.”

“So what? He gives you a little bit of food and a few promises and you’re happy to roll over for him like a good little boy just like that?”

“I am _not_ rolling over,” Kaine seethes. “But I’m also not a complete idiot. He’s right. Considering our options, at least here we’re together, safe, and fed.”

Peter lets out a frustrated whine. “I would rather be together, safe and fed with the _Doctors_.”

“You think I don’t feel that way too?” Kaine says, “But news flash, Pete, we don't know where they are!”

Peter’s angry response dies on his tongue when the bathroom door opens behind him. Back support suddenly gone, both boys fall backwards to look up at a freshly-washed Ben, blue hoodie swallowing his features and hanging around his knees. 

Ben looks miffed, managing to button up his jeans while glaring down at his two older brothers. “Stop fighting. You ruined my perfectly good shower.” 

They move to the web-hammock to leech off each other’s body heat. Peter grumbles when Kaine brings the box of brownies with him, annoyed that crumbs will inevitably get stuck in the silk and they won’t be able to get them out without redoing the entire web. 

“Ben, you agree with me though, right? Isn’t it weird that our Senses haven’t gone off?” Peter prods. 

Ben thoughtfully chews a brownie, his hands and feet tucked up into his hoodie. “...Yeah. I guess it's a little weird. But that just means there's no danger here, so…” He unhelpfully shrugs. “...We’ll just have to keep on our toes.”

Kaine rolls on his side towards his two younger siblings. “You guys are overthinking it. If it says something’s safe, it’s safe. If something isn’t then we’ll kill it before it can kill us, easy as that.”

“It’s not that simple, Kaine. It should be going off when we’re anywhere that isn’t home,” Peter argues, irritation over Ben not completely taking his side bleeding through his words. 

Kaine snorts, “That’s not how it works and you know it.”

Peter bristles, sitting up straight on the web. “Well what do _you_ know? Are you suddenly the expert, Mr. Sense-less?”

Ben’s eyebrows shoot up. “Hey…”

Peter continues to seethe. “It’s only a matter of time before something happens and we’re carted away to be cut open, murdered, hunted for sport, _whatever_ \-- my Sense should be going off! _Should be!_ But what do you know, huh?”

“I know enough to know that you’re being a complete and total _idiot!_ You and Ben have the same problem, you’re both stupid puppets of your Sense! If Warren was here he’d order you to listen to it!”

“ _Shut up!”_ Peter snaps, “What do you know? You wouldn’t understand! _You’ll never, ever understand!_ And don’t bring Dr. Warren into this! You don’t have a Sense! _You weren’t good enough --_ ” Peter’s mouth snaps shut, stopping the words that are cascading from his mouth, but it's too late. The sentiment is already out there. 

_You weren’t good enough to get a Sense_. 

Kaine knows what he was going to say, no way to take it back now. It's a low blow, the lowest of the low. Attacking his brother's genetics is something he would never have dreamed of under different circumstances, but Peter's too irritated to realize or care about how much he sounds like Dr. Warren.

The eldest glares at Peter in silent challenge, but Peter doesn’t budge. 

Ben nervously shifts. “Let’s not fight about this right now, we’re all equals here…”

Relenting, Kaine rolls over, his dismissive back turned towards his brothers. “Yeah, Pete. You’re right. I guess I don’t understand. Whatever.”

Ben shoves Peter hard and crawls over to sit next to the eldest spider. Peter keeps his distance at the other end of the web, elbows on his knees and running his hands through his fluffy, drying hair.

They don’t speak to each other after that. Ben occasionally offers him scraps from the brownie box, but Peter doesn’t feel all that hungry anymore.

* * *

Tony tests the heftiness of the grocery bags in his hands as he watches the numbers on the elevator slowly climb. After he was done with the day’s Stark Industries business, he and Clint spent nearly three hours making all sorts of sandwiches in one of the Compound’s professional kitchens. With their combined ‘dad-skills’ (as Clint called it), they made every type of sandwich they could think of: peanut butter and jelly, bologna, ham and cheese, nutella, BLT, grilled cheese, and so much more. He figured he’d throw everything at the wall to see what will stick -- there has to be a favorite in here somewhere!

He steps out into the hallway, announcing his presence with a quick hello that unsurprisingly goes unanswered. He cranes his neck out into the messy living room as much as he can without stepping over their boundaries, but they’re not there. Bedroom, then.

He backtracks, setting the sandwiches down in the hallway on his side of the webline. He calls out into the darkened space, eyes fixed on the web that hangs high in the middle of the bedroom. “Kids?” 

It shifts and jostles, revealing all three spiderkids peeking over the edge of their silk hammock.

Tony smiles widely despite how it pulls on his bandaged nose. “Hey there, I didn’t wake you guys up, did I?” 

Ben and Kaine shove past Peter to hop down and snatch away the bags of food. The pair settles down a good distance away from the door, and Tony belatedly realizes they’ve situated themselves in a spot that's just out of arm’s reach if he suddenly decided to lunge over the webline at them.

“I made every type I could think of,” he explains as they start to sift through the sandwiches. “Tell me which one you guys like best, yeah?” 

Ben and Kaine begin eating, but Peter is left behind. He’s peering over the edge of the nest at his friends with a rueful expression. Like a kicked puppy. Concern overtaking him, Tony asks the two kids hogging the sandwich pile, “Doesn’t Peter want any lunch?” 

Ben and Kaine freeze mid-bite and share an unreadable look. Hesitantly, they both glance over their shoulders at their forgotten friend. Realizing he’s the center of current attention, Peter fixes the billionaire with a cold glare and wordlessly slinks out of view, away from the edge of the hammock. 

“Is he not hungry?”

Ben shrugs, keeping his eyes downcast into his fried bologna sandwich.

“Is he sick?” He did give them a bag full of sugary snacks last night, maybe he’s made himself sick off of those?

“No,” Kaine clippedly answers, unwrapping another sandwich. The teen holds it out in front of Ben, only beginning to eat when the blond gives a subtle nod. 

“Er, okay. Could you make sure he eats at least? Set aside a few for your friend?”

They do. A small, woefully tiny pile is set aside for Peter. 

Okay, they’re obviously angry at each other over something. That teenage pettiness is showing through. Tony blows a hard breath out of his nose, “You’re mad at him.” 

They stop eating. Ben swallows and says into his next, slow bite, “No.” 

“Yeah, no, I’m not buying that. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Ben says.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Kaine slams down his half-eaten sandwich. “ _No._ ” And with that, he stands and abandons the sandwich pile. The kid springs up to the web hammock, and the silk structure rocks violently as he hoists himself inside and takes a place at the far end of the web, far away from the low-hanging lump Tony assumes is Peter. 

Ben stares at where his friend disappeared to for a few moments, likely making sure a fight didn’t just start in the hammock, before returning his attention to the food. He absently pushes aside a good chunk of the pile for Kaine. Being alone on the floor also seems to have drained a little bit of the blond’s confidence, because the boy scoots further away from Tony, his back bumping up against the bedframe.

A sullen mood swirls thick in the air. He should probably take the hint and leave them to sort out whatever their problems are but…

“Ben, kiddo, can you give me a hint? Is there anything I can do to help?”

The teen picks at the sandwich in his hands. “We’re not fighting. It’s okay.” 

"Please?"

No response. Ben peers up at him through his lashes, and something about that look warns Tony he should stop trying to push it.

Tony hangs his head. Switching topics, he gestures to the few wet towels discarded on the bedroom floor. “I see you guys had showers, how was that?”

Ben returns his gaze to his sandwich. “It was very nice. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for a shower, kid. But you’re very welcome,” Tony smiles, “I’m uh...just glad you guys are here now.”

“Mm-hmm."

Tony drums his fingers on his folded legs. He tries to keep the conversation going, but it's like talking to a brick wall. Tony asks if they liked the snacks, do they want more of them, which of the sandwiches did you like the best -- but Ben gives only neutral answers at best and completely disinterested hums at worst. Tony even watches him eat to see if the kid chooses a specific sandwich over the others, but the teen does nothing of the sort. Once he finishes one sandwich he moves right on to the next without checking for a specific filling, placing the least-liked ones aside for later, or anything! What kid does that? 

Tony eventually gives in after another awkward silence descends to layer itself like ice over the already gloomy atmosphere. They’ll probably make up by dinner. He had fights with friends all the time and those never lasted more than a day, tops. If you don’t count the ones that lasted much, much longer than that, at least. 

He tries one last time as he collects his things, “Any requests for dinner? Requests for anything at all?”

Ben only stares at him. And with that and the continuing silence of the immobile masses concealed in the hammock, Tony turns to leave with a sigh.

_Baby steps,_ he repeats in his head like a mantra. _Baby steps. Baby steps._

He’s just pushed the elevator button when he hears a hesitant, almost inaudible if not for the pervasive silence of the room _tap-tap-tap_ on the wood floor behind him. The billionaire spins around to see Ben peering halfway out of the bedroom doorway.

The kid seems nervous, indecisive. He casts furtive glances back and forth between the bedroom and the billionaire at the far end of the hall.

“This morning… you said you have mutant friends.”

The billionaire’s face lights up. “Yeah! Yes! ...Would you like to meet them sometime?”

The kid ducks his head a little, unsure. 

“I’ll make sure they’ll follow your rules. They won’t go anywhere you don’t want them to be, and you can ask them to leave at anytime. I promise.”

The blond studies him, hands fisted nervously in his blue hoodie. His hair sticks up in odd angles as it dries weirdly, and he looks so much like a normal, shy, gangly teenager that Tony has to remind himself that someone thought it necessary to treat this kid -- _these_ kids -- more like a luxury product than a human. It’s heartbreaking. It makes him want to run over and wrap the kid in a hug -- and he would, if he didn’t know it would only earn him a broken jaw to match his nose.

The kid ruffles a hand through his golden hair. After much thought, the teen finally gives a small nod and an even quieter _okay_ before he disappears back into the bedroom.

* * *

Tony pushes through the glass doors of Bruce Banner’s personal lab. Of all the Avengers that occasionally call the new compound their home, Bruce is one of the more permanent residents. Mainly because the compound has a great selection of top-of-the-line lab equipment, and also because it’s understandably hard to find a city apartment tailored to an eight-foot-tall green giant.

Tony calls out to the hunched form at one of the tables, “Are you doing anything important at the moment? I need your body.”

Bruce pulls away from the mass spectrometer he was tinkering with, face contorted in a grimace. He's dressed in an oversized, custom tailored dark blue sweater and equally large jeans, outfit overlayed with a lab coat. “Don’t phrase anything like that ever again. What is it?”

Tony saunters over to a minifridge in the back corner, retrieving an energy drink. He pops the tab and takes a swig. “I told the kids I was friends with mutants, so I need to produce a mutant friend, and so _\--”_ The billionaire gestures with the soda. “-- _Tada!_ Mutant friend.”

“What? I’m not a mutant. I’m a mutate. I don’t have an X-gene.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to,” Tony dismisses. 

“No really, Tony, there’s a very clear distinction.” The doctor rolls across the room to a separate lab bench, picking up a few manila folders that Tony recognizes as the kids’ information packets. “I’ve been reading about them, by the way. Those kids aren’t mutants either, no X-gene. They don’t even have that hack-and-slash look to their DNA that mutates have. They’re just born like that. It’s quite fascinating actually -- ”

Tony leans on a nearby table, throwing his head back. He groans, “X-genes, no X-genes, who cares! I don’t think the kids are really focused on the scientific definitions of mutants, mutates, inhumans, whatever. They just want to meet someone like them.”

“Why can’t you ask the X-Men? I heard Hank McCoy’s in New York as a keynote at a symposium this week.” The green giant gestures to himself with a half-smile, “He’s much more cuddly than me, anyways.”

“That could work, _but --_ ” Tony drags a hand across his face, “-- yours truly and the X-Men don’t exactly…see eye-to-eye all the time. Why do you think we use Wanda as our ambassador to Westchester?” 

“Is this about that one time you got tipsy and flirted with Jean at that heroes gala years ago? Do you really think they still remember that?”

“ _Yes!_ Summers snail-mails me a letter every few months just to remind me I’m not welcome within one hundred feet of the Institute! And besides, I already checked to make sure that you weren’t one of the listed LMDs they would recognize.”

Bruce huffs a laugh. He brushes off his sweater as he stands up, shedding his lab coat and rearranging his experiment to carry on without him in the room. “Okay, fine. But I’m not that great with kids...”

“Great!” Tony leaps back to his feet, ushering Bruce out of the room and down the hallway. “And don’t worry about it, just pretend they’re Morgan! You're great with Morgan!”

“Last time I checked Morgan’s bite isn’t able to cause near-immediate kidney failure,” Bruce quips.

“Ohoho, I beg to differ. With how hard it is to get her to brush her teeth, one bite from her would be infection city,” Tony smiles. “All you have to do is introduce yourself. Maybe convince them that I’m not out to eat their arms or whatever.” 

They turn down another, smaller hallway, and Bruce hesitates mid-stride. “This isn’t the way to the elevators.“

“ _Pshh,_ ‘course not. Because first,” the billionaire strides back into one of the professional kitchens again, rubbing his palms together. “We have to make dinner.”

* * *

Balancing three plates of overcooked steak and charred fries between them, Tony catches him up in the elevator about what happened during lunch, just as soon as Bruce finishes scolding him like a child over how he went to the their floor without alerting anyone.

Karen wasn’t able to pick up the exact cause of the fight, though it was between Peter and Kaine and something about being senseless. Whatever that meant. The cameras in their bedroom showed that the rest of the sandwiches were eaten sometime in the past few hours and that the kids are currently exploring the kitchen area separately, but together. Last time he checked, Kaine and Ben were playing around with the toaster while Peter tipped the fridge forward at a forty-five degree angle to peer behind it. Tony cringes inwardly when he thinks about what the inside will look like when they open it again.

“They’re pretty skittish, so don’t be surprised if they don’t want to get close,” Tony adds. “And no sudden movements or noises, keep your palms open and out where they can see them, and -- “

“Don’t step over their lines and don’t try to touch them. I got it, Tony.” Bruce exhales. 

“I’m just making sure it’s etched into your brain! I don’t want you to frighten them accidentally with all your... eight-foot-tall Hulk-y glory.”

“I’m seven-foot-ten and a _half_.”

Tony’s heartbeat picks up as the elevator slows to a stop. They’re still exploring the kitchenette, he can hear the metallic shuffling of the silverware drawer being pawed through from around the corner.

“Kids! Dinner!” Tony calls, stopping just a few feet short of the living room webline. Bruce hangs loosely behind him, his usually heavy steps carefully soft against the wood floor. Curious, Bruce sticks his head into the boy’s bedroom, naturally intrigued with the kids' spider-like sleeping arrangements.

The metallic clinking ceases. There’s a bit of shuffling before Peter’s timid face peeks around the corner into the hallway. The kid eyes him suspiciously and steps out into the open, but stops abruptly when he sees Bruce. His blue eyes blow wide and he superhumanly jumps back into the kitchenette with a clatter.

“Who is _that?_ ” A pitched voice calls out. “And why didn’t robot lady say you brought someone?”

_“You only asked for a warning in regards to Mr. Stark, Peter. Would you like me to update that request?”_ Karen helpfully chimes in. A frustrated groan quickly follows her input.

“This is Bruce Banner, he’s a friend of mine. A _mutant_ friend of mine,” the billionaire announces, pointedly ignoring Bruce’s knee-jerk correction that he’s _a mutate, Tony_. 

A different voice pipes up from the kitchen, “Mutant?” 

Now it's Kaine and Ben's turn to poke their heads around the corner. Bruce flashes a disarming smile at the boys and holds out the two dinner plates in his hands.

“Steak and fries,” the giant rumbles. “Have you ever had steak?” 

Taking care to keep a safe distance away from Tony, the two kids creep towards the green giant. They take the food from Bruce, but don’t scurry off with it like they’ve previously done. They instead place the plates aside, their attention laser-focused on this great big new arrival. Peter sulks out from the kitchen a moment later, casting a glare in Tony’s direction as he half-crawls to where his friends are crouched an arms-length away from the stranger.

The kids' eyes roam Hulk's form. Bruce awkwardly smiles, uncomfortable with the scrutinizing attention. After a minute of studying, Ben makes a quizzical face and outstretches a single, curious hand. An invitation, an offering. A request.

Bruce’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and after exchanging a look with an equally surprised Tony, Bruce kneels and likewise offers his own, comparatively giant hand in return.

Tony can't help but stare, dumbfounded, as Bruce’s hand is seized in a gentle but deceivingly strong grip. (Tony has the bruises to prove just how strong those spindly hands can be!) Bruce goes completely pliant and allows Ben to turn his hand over and around. The other two teens join in, running light, curious fingers along green skin as if to make sure it’s real.

“So...you're a mutant?” Ben mumbles, wide-eyed.

Peter elbows the blond in the side, whispering a bitter, _“He’s_ green _, stupid.”_ Ben sours and shoulders him in retaliation with a mouthed ‘ _Shut up.’_

“Ah... yes. I’m a... _mutant_ ,” Bruce concedes when he momentarily meets Tony’s hard look. “I'm a friend of Tony Stark. And this place is safe for people like us.”

Tony sees something shift in the teens as they examine every line of Bruce’s palm, every finger, the curve of his wrist. For the first time they seem to relax, if only a little. The tension starts to melt from their shoulders, their necks, and they even untuck their legs out from under their bodies, no longer ready to immediately bolt at the tiniest sense of danger.

Peter slides his gaze over to Tony. “Has he been telling the truth?”

“Yes,” Bruce confirms gently. “Yes, you’re safe here. You’ll be living at the compound for a while until we find something permanent for you. Everything he’s told you is the truth.”

Peter doesn’t seem convinced. Tony can’t help but shiver a little bit under the kid’s continued stare. “Even stuff about hunters?”

“Yes, even that. Mutant hunters don’t exist.”

A thoughtful silence settles on the floor like fresh snow. The tension creeps back like frost on glass.

Peter's frown deepens. “That doesn’t…That can’t...”

“The people who raised you three lied to you, I’m sorry,” Bruce continues. He wiggles the fingers that are securely in Ben's grip when he sees the somber haze that’s fallen over their eyes. “Sure, some people gawk at me when I’m in line at Barnes-n-Noble, but there’s no such thing as people going around uh...cutting people's arms off and eating them. Murder is very illegal, towards humans and mutants alike.”

Peter huffs a frustrated, perturbed noise, curling his hands into worried fists in his jacket pockets.

Ben pipes up, squeezing down on Bruce’s thumb. “Do you have six months too?”

“No, I just live here sometimes. Just like Tony over there.”

“What about Wade? Did you make a deal with Fury for him also? Is he here?”

Tony cuts in from the opposite side of the hallway, “Deadpool’s a maladjusted mess of a man, but he’s not _this_ type of maladjusted mess. He’s probably still in SHIELD custody. That man’s got a few hundred warrants hanging over his head.” 

“Why would they lie about something like hunters?” Peter blurts out, disbelieving tone in his voice. “That doesn’t make sense. Connors said they're why he fled underground. They're why we're safest with the Doctors.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Bruce soothes. “Hunters don't exist. They probably wanted to scare you from thinking about any other ways of living. You didn’t know any better, and that's okay.”

"It's not okay," Peter swallows hard. “We're not supposed to be here. We're important to them! The Project is important to them! They wouldn’t -- We were going to change lives! We’re the culmination of years of scientific advancement! Progress personified!”

Tony and Bruce freeze. ‘Progress personified’? ‘The culmination of scientific advancement’? It all worryingly sounds like the kid’s parroting the words of one of their deranged caretakers. 

Peter’s breathing becomes labored, and his expression flushes to somewhere between confusion, anger, and fear. “We're important to them. They'll come back for us. They can’t abandon us --” Peter takes a sudden, stuttering breath. 

The billionaire remembers the siege on the lab. He remembers seeing them clustered together through the solid wall that hid their room. If Friday hadn’t picked up their heartbeats, how long would it have been until SHIELD found them? Hours? Days? Did those bastards in the lab have a retrieval plan once they were hidden away, or were they okay with the knowledge that they left teenagers to sit around in the dark without food, water or basic utilities until someone just happened to stumble across them?

“They did abandon you,” Tony says, voice steady and firm. Peter shakes his head. “They did. And you know what they were going to do when you got old enough? Sell you. They never really cared about you. People who care about you don’t do that.”

“What do you know?” Peter yells. “You don’t know the Doctors like we do!”

At the rising hostility in the room Bruce warns, “ _Tony…_ ”

“Our purpose is to help the Doctors and others change the world,” Kaine says. “The Doctors would have gone with us once we had an employer. You buy the research, you get the researchers.”

Tony's heart drops out the bottom of his stomach. They knew they were going to be sold? “You guys are more than just research, you're _children,_ dammit. Would you have gotten a say in what people made you do? What if an ‘employer’ wanted you to do awful things? Would you have done it?”

Kaine’s lip curls and he starts to parrot, “The Doctors’ judgement is _perfect_. They wouldn’t offer us to a cause that doesn’t have a perfectly good goal in mind, and they would never let an employer purposely damage us. We're too important.”

Tony scoffs, “Are you even listening to yourselves? You’re more than just something for people to use and discard. Haven’t you ever daydreamed about making something more of your life?”

Peter spits a hard, _“No.”_

“What about you, Kaine? Ben?” They both shake their heads in the negative.

“You don’t understand what that place was, what it means to us,” Ben argues.

“Oh, I think I understand it plenty,” Tony snaps back. “A few demented scientists thought they’d play around with mutagenetics like it was play-doh and made a few kids who they kept caged like lab rats and now think of themselves as property!”

“Not a cage!” Peter spits. “ _Home!_ It is -- was -- _arrgh!_ ”

“Tony, stop antagonizing them,” Bruce warns. 

“I’m just doing what Nat said! No more dancing around hard stuff!”

Peter suddenly barks, “Where are they?”

“Where are who?”

“Dr. Warren! Dr. Connors! Where are they?”

Tony throws up his hands, “I don’t know! Hopefully, the bastards are rotting behind bars!”

Peter snarls, suddenly lurching away from his brothers. _Oh shit._ Tony flinches hard, stumbling back into the wall.

Peter gets about two quick, aggressive steps in towards Tony before Bruce hooks a huge arm around the boy’s middle, hoisting him up into the air and trapping him against his chest. Peter shrieks in surprise and thrashes in a desperate attempt to free himself. When Bruce adjusts his hold, Peter yells and bites down as hard as he can into the green giant’s forearm.

“Ow,” Bruce winces. Peter’s nostrils flare as he chews his arm, forcing his teeth deeper into the thick skin. “Ow, ow. Please.”

For a single, terrifying second, Tony expects the other two to jump to their friend’s rescue in a flurry of blows, but aside from looking anxiously between him and Bruce, Kaine and Ben stay where they are.

Bruce doesn’t try to force Peter to let go. He stands around, awkwardly hugging Peter against his chest with one arm like the kid's a rabid teddy bear as he waits for Peter to simmer down on his own. 

Peter eventually calms, going limp in the giant’s restraining, but gentle hug. With a remorseful look, the teen detaches from Bruce, a line of dark liquid trailing from the corner of the boy's frown. Fresh blood trickles lazily down the front of Bruce’s arm. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Peter murmurs into the crook of Bruce’s elbow, breathing hard. “I didn’t mean to…”

Once Bruce is satisfied Peter won't lunge again, he gently puts the kid back down. It takes a moment for Peter to register that his feet are touching the ground again, but as soon as he does he wastes no time escaping back over the webline to his friends.

Bruce produces a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing away at the small wound. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re alright.” The doctor gives a searching glance at Tony. The billionaire offers a stunned thumbs-up in return. He’s okay, just startled. Again. 

Bruce laughs, trying to alleviate the remaining tension, “At least you’re not the one who’s venomous, right?” 

Peter bows his head, sheepish, submissive and trembling. “I’m sorry I bit you,” he warbles, voice cracking. “Please...please don’t let Stark send me back to Fury.”

Tony quickly soothes, “No, nonono, don’t worry about that. It’s okay. You’re not going anywhere. Bruce?”

“Yeah, look,” he turns his arm to show the teens the two neat, small puncture wounds. “See? Already stopped bleeding. No harm done. Tony’s not going to give up on you guys that easily.”

Peter curls his arms around himself and tucks his head between his knees. He continues to tremble.

Ben runs a reassuring hand over Peter's hair before creeping closer to the webline. “Is it really safe here?”

Bruce nods, “Honestly, the compound’s probably the safest place in the world, regardless.”

Ben holds out his arm, pushing his blue hoodie sleeve back to show off the black wristband. “Why do we still have these, then? Peter broke the remote.”

Tony takes a deep breath. “It’s only a precaution. The AIs in the building are connected to those bands, and are able to dose you without the need of a remote. But I _promise_ that dosing you is only a last resort scenario, and in due time, we’ll get those bands off.”

The youngest looks to Bruce, “Is he telling the truth?”

“Of course.”

“Mutant’s honor?”

Bruce blinks. ”Er, yes? Mutant’s honor.” 

Ben nods, seemingly satisfied. He lets out a deep, quiet sigh, the apprehension completely melting from his body. The kid believes him. The teen holds out his hand again in silent request. 

Bruce obliges, and two huge fingers are seized in a superhuman grip. Tony watches, once again transfixed, as the green giant is gently pulled forward over the plates of food, over the webline and into the living room.

Kaine moves to the side as Bruce steps over, casting unsure glances at the blond, and Peter peeks out from where he has his head tucked in his knees, and although they're signifigantly more doubtful, both don’t seem very bothered by their friend’s sudden decision.

Bruce nervously glances back and forth from the kids to Tony, unsure if this is supposed to happen. The doctor’s about a foot over their line, their boundary. 

“I, uh. Is this -- Is this okay?” Bruce stammers, hand still firmly in Ben's grasp.

“Mutants stick together,” Ben answers, like that’s all the explanation he needs.

* * *

Over the next few days, they try to fall into a loose pattern to let the kids settle in.

The teens continue to play lookout at night and move together as a tight group from room to room, only splitting up when one of them shuts themselves in the bathroom. The boys clearly have a deep attachment towards one another -- maybe even bordering on a dependency problem -- but either way, their constant closeness is definitely atypical of normal teenage boys. Normal teenage boys would be fighting over who gets the best bedroom, shirking away from prolonged contact, and slamming doors to keep annoying friends out. Not sharing food, helping untangle each other's hair, or cuddling together. 

They still scurry away with their meals whenever its only Tony on the floor, and their likes and dislikes are still a complete mystery despite the array of food options he's brought and offered the kids. Altogether, though, they seem to have accepted their situation, if reluctantly. He often catches Ben and Kaine sunbathing in the living room in a big pile or messing with kitchen appliances. Peter, however, has been busying himself with investigating every inch of the top floor, occasionally accompanied by Ben when he strays too far from their little group. 

Peter seems to be having the hardest time adjusting. Whereas his friends are settling in rather well so far for someone of their previous circumstances, Peter still retains a certain nervous energy about him and hasn’t been very interactive with the other two kids. Standoffish, even. Whether it's just nerves after the fallout of the infighting that happened a few days ago or if the kid is naturally just an anxious mess, Tony doesn’t know. 

What Tony painfully does know, however, is that out of all the spiderkids Peter likes him the least. Icy glares, hisses and dismissive eye-rolls are constantly thrown his way from afar, but whenever Tony moves closer it's like a switch is flipped and Peter shrinks back, eyes downturned and submissive. It's like the kid can't make up his mind whether he's afraid of him or wants to go for a round two with his healing nose. That and the fact that the kid immediately begged Bruce to keep Tony from whisking him away racks him with guilt, he hadn't meant for their last confrontation to become so hot-blooded. Bruce gave him an earful on how hostile his approach was, and looking back on it, he had to agree. He failed to stop and lay off a little when the conversation started to veer out of control.

Speaking of Bruce, the way they act around him is practically night and day in comparison. The doctor’s only been back to the boys’ floor two times since his introduction, but when he’s tagged along they follow Bruce around like a gaggle of ducklings, listening to him explain how the kitchen appliances work, explaining pictures in magazines, and even helping them fold and put away their new clothes. And when Bruce is there, their conversations are more like _actual, human conversations_ , not just endless, awkward strings of noncommittal hums and ‘I don’t know’s that Tony has had to deal with. 

Being bitten aside, Bruce really likes the kids. All the giant could talk about after his introduction was how they trust him, they let _him_ over their _webline!_ Like it's a big deal, or something. He’s definitely not jealous that Bruce somehow won them over in the span of fifteen minutes when he’s been trying to win their trust for nearly a week now. The doctor, not passing up an opportunity to get up close and study genetically engineered mutants, has even taken to bringing a little notepad on his visits to scribble observations onto. The boys don't seem bothered by this.

At lunchtime, after being ignored for hours Tony finally gets up to leave when Bruce starts to show the teens how a TV works. The kids sit in front of the screen, utterly fascinated, as Bruce flips through the available channels. Tony collects their clean plates to the theme of a shitty daytime talkshow roaring to life from the living room.

Yep, definitely not jealous.

* * *

“Are you seriously trying to pull the ‘finders keepers’ card with this?” Clint jokes through a mouthful of noodles, elbows propped up on the bar counter of the common floor.

Across the table, Tony puts his face in his hands. The gauze holding his broken nose together is long-gone, replaced with a simple butterfly bandage across his nosebridge. “They just...actually like him. I’m only tolerated _at best_ when I bring food.”

“Well, of course they like him. He’s different -- like them,” Clint slurps. “Why is kids liking the Hulk more than your boring metal ass such a problem when you don’t seem to care when the same thing happens during team dinner at Cheesecake Factory? They seem to be settling in okay, I thought that was a good thing.”

It is a good thing. Since the introduction of Bruce, they’re relaxing, they’re not almost sitting on top of one another anymore. Them liking Bruce is a _great_ thing, so why does he feel this way?

“I got hissed at, Barton. _Hissed at_ when I tried to peek into their kitchen this morning.” He wasn’t even over the line! He was just curious at how dirty it had gotten! The kids don’t seem to have any motivation to clean up their space, leaving Tony wondering if being messy is a universal teenager thing or a living-like-a-zoo-animal-for-your-entire-life thing. Maybe both.

Clint shrugs. “I think you’re just missing your own little monster, I get broody too when I’m away from home for too long. If it bothers you so much, why not just stop inviting Bruce along?”

“They're opening up more around him. I can’t just take away someone they’re comfortable with. I don’t know, I just feel...left out, I guess? I might as well be chopped fucking liver as far as those kids are concerned.”

Clint smiles, and perks up when someone new steps -- er, _stomps_ his way into the common floor behind Tony. Speak of the devil. 

“Banner!” Clint waves, “Tony wants to challenge you for the title of Spider-Teen Dad!”

Tony buries his face in his palms and muffles into his hands, “How are they?” 

“They’re fine, I left them watching the news.” He places his notepad down on the counter and sits next to Tony in his own barstool. “The SHIELD documents are accurate, they run much cooler than most humans, at about 95 degrees Fahrenheit each. I still don’t know how they stick to surfaces, but Ben was very eager to show me what he could do. I might try a few tests on their adhesiveness next time I’m free to go with you again, and maybe even get a venom sample from Kaine -- if they’ll let me, of course. I’ll have to borrow some equipment from Helen Cho.” 

Bruce continues, shuffling through his notes. “Aside from their fascinating biology, they seem to be doing fine. Peter and Kaine are pretty withdrawn, but Ben was very friendly and talkative. They consider themselves brothers, and didn’t like it at all when I corrected them. They were also wishy-washy on if they have a mom or dad. I don’t think they really understand what a parent is. ‘They don’t need one when they have the doctors’, is what they said.”

Clint makes a sad puppydog face. “Aww...You’re gonna make me cry into my ramen here, Big Green.”

Bruce elbows Tony lightly. “The boys also talked about you, after you left. They think you smell like a robot, an LMD.”

Tony immediately sniffs his t-shirt. “What? I do not.”

“You kidding?” Clint slurps. “When Pepper isn’t here you’re always covered in like, a constant film of motor oil. An aura of grease.”

Tony scoffs, offended. 

Bruce nudges him again, “I’d just thought I’d tell you. Every little bit counts when it comes to them, I think.”

The billionaire sulks. “Duly noted.”

* * *

Many hours later, Tony’s just finished hammering the Iron Armor chestplate back into shape, and he makes his way from his workshop to one of the Compound's cafeterias to recharge with a late-afternoon snack. 

The billionaire rubs the tiredness out of his eyes as he pours himself a cup of coffee from the coffee machines, idly glancing at the clock. In an hour or so he’ll have to find some way to scrounge up dinner for the kids. Their appetites have blown through at least a half of the Compound's food stock so far, and Pepper's definitely going to have a mini conniption when she sees that the food budget has essentially tripled.

Something makes a resounding but muffled _bang_ above his head, the force of it causing the hanging cafeteria lights to jostle slightly. Then a screech of something moving across a floor.

Huh.

“...Fri?” Tony takes a long pull of coffee, eyeing the tall ceiling.

_“Boss, your charges are fighting.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ruh roh!
> 
> Here's a doodle of something that happened last chapter!
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> lots of tony pov this chapter, next will be mostly peter pov hopefully?
> 
> next chapter!: the fight, the aftermath, and a new player in this game


	14. et tu, frater?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, it all starts with a simple push.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOA! What strange times we live in. My university's closed, likely for the rest of the semester! That sorta sucks. But hey! We love us some online classes. I did forget my drawing tablet in my dorm, though, so no art from me for a few weeks ;_; oh well
> 
> Let's all try to stay healthy!

Peter peers into the slotted metal of a ceiling vent. Cool air blows back at him, and he easily pops the metal vent out, not caring that a dusting of plaster comes along with it, falling into his face and up his nose.

He sneezes, head bouncing against the ceiling. Ow.

“Bless you,” Ben says, testing the phrase. The youngest spider’s watching TV, lying on the couch upside down and legs splayed over the back of the cushions -- the same position he was in when Bruce was showing them the wondrous world of daytime television only an hour ago. To Peter's annoyance, he’s actually wearing the new clothes Stark brought them yesterday. His new jeans are a little too baggy, bunching around his ankles, and a solid black t-shirt pokes up through the blue hoodie Ben’s refusing to take off. “That’s what they say on the TV, you know, when you sneeze. Did you know that?”

Peter rubs his sore forehead. “That’s weird.” 

Ben hums in agreement.

Peter lets the vent cover clatter to the floor. It's too small for him to fit in, just like every other opening in this place that isn’t outright protected by an AI. No matter how many times he smashes the elevator button, pries at the door beside the elevator that likely leads to an emergency staircase, or searches for weaknesses in the glass, there is no escape. 

He doesn’t really know why he’s still trying. Over the past two nights, he’s slowly gotten used to his Sense being silent as the grave -- as far as it’s concerned, he’s safe. Stark assured them of that, and if he wanted to hurt them he would have done so by now, wouldn’t he? If he wanted, Stark had the power to just, on a whim, paralyze them and end it with a shimmer of a blade against pale throats.

But that couldn’t happen. His Sense insists this place poses no immediate nor latent harm -- a stamp of approval that would leave him satisfied if he were back home, but here it just makes him feel…

Restless. Anxious. It’s like he’s a spring being compressed down and down, his body a jittery ball of tension ready to snap. And it doesn’t help that his brothers don’t seem to feel the same way. 

Despite what he’s currently doing, the spiders have tentatively decided to wait here until the Doctors come pick them up, because they will! They have to! He doesn’t know where they’ll go after that, but the Doctors are smart. Maybe then they could ask for a bigger room, maybe one more like this?

Now that this has become a more permanent living situation, Peter’s taken the time to analyze his surroundings. Whatever money being the head of Stark Industries gets you, it’s certainly a lot. Definitely leagues above whatever hovel they found Wade living in. Furnished head to toe with hardwood and sleek black leather furniture, granite countertops, huge glass windows, fantastically soft bedding, crazy advanced shower -- this place is _nice._ He’s so used to white walls and white tile floors that the rich dark browns and blues of this place hurt his eyes almost as much as the sunlight does. He absently wonders if his employer’s house would have looked like this.

Peter crawls over to check the next vent. He pops it out the same, checking for Karen's hidden systems or whatever before chucking the metal grate into the webbed up, sticky remains of the shattered bookshelf in the corner. 

“You know, you guys could help me,” Peter says over the incessant talk of a man in a suit on the TV.

“Help you do what," Kaine snaps, "Make more of a mess?” The eldest spider’s reclined on the floor in front of Ben, chewing on a fruit roll-up that came from a box with ‘Morgan’ scrawled on the side in thick sharpie. He’s wearing new clothes too, a pair of black lounge shorts and a white tank top.

_Shut up,_ Peter wants to say. He crawls over to the unsmashed bookshelf that he checked yesterday, but he tips it forward to peer behind it again anyways. “Forget I asked,” he mumbles instead.

Living in one room for their entire lives, Peter and his brothers have gotten how to be angry with each other in such constant close quarters down to an exact science. Back home, they could have a nasty fight and be perfectly fine eating, sleeping and living around each other, trading jabs back and forth until any argument is forgotten when they're forced to work together during training. But here, there is no threat of a mech wanting to beat the snot out of you to encourage them to forgive and forget. 

He hears someone stick to the ceiling behind him. He ignores them until Ben prods him in his ribs. 

“Can’t you guys just make up already? Please?”

Peter pretends to be focused _really_ hard on the blank wall behind the bookshelf.

Ben pokes him in the shoulder. “Peter, can you just relax for a minute?”

Peter places the bookshelf down and starts to crawl away. Suddenly, there’s arms around his waist putting an uncomfortable pressure on his belly.

_“Augh_ , what are you --” 

“Apologize!” Ben’s dangling from his middle, arms looped around his waist, trying to pry him off the ceiling. “Say you’re sorry to Kaine!”

“You’re _heavy!_ Let go!”

Ben does not. He flips upward to awkwardly plant his feet on the ceiling and pulls, bodily prying Peter off. They fall to the messy floor in a clumsy heap.

Ben pins him to the floor. “Make! Up!” The youngest spider insists. “A! Po! Lo! Gize!”

“Stoppp,” Peter whines. “You’re so fat! Get off, Ben!”

“Not until you apologize!”

Peter uses a bit of his super-strength to buck his little brother off. Undeterred, Ben quickly recovers and drapes himself over Peter’s back before he can move away. 

_“Oof_ ,” Peter grunts as Ben suddenly puts his full weight into smushing him. “Get off!”

“You need to relax!” Ben says. “Just chill out!”

“I don’t want to!”

Ben practically leans over him, chest pressing against the back of Peter’s head. The blue hoodie cords dangle in Peter’s face as he’s uncomfortably folded in on himself. “You have to! Stark has mutant friends and is taking care of us! We’re okay right now, Peter!”

Peter can’t do much more than huff annoyed in his current position.

The youngest spider rolls off of him, smiling up at Peter from where he lays on his back. “Now be nice and come watch TV with us.”

Reluctantly, he takes a seat on the floor closest to the window beside the leather couch. Ben is curled up against the couch's armrest behind him, flipping through different channels, but Peter isn’t really paying attention.

Fluffy clouds float by outside, carried by the warm breeze of noon. With idle fascination, he watches the slight undulation of the row of trees at the far end of the property, their boughs of leaves swaying like gentle waves in the wind. Something catches his eye on the track below, and he scoots closer to the glass to get a better look.

It’s the golden-haired man, running around the track like he was yesterday afternoon. Only this time he’s joined by a friend with a shiny arm that glints in the sunlight and hair almost the same length and shade as Kaine’s. Both men are decked out in sweaty t-shirts and jogging pants. 

Ben must notice too, because he nudges Kaine with his foot and says, “Oh hey, now there’s a guy that looks like you out there.” 

The golden-haired man pauses on the track, burly chest heaving with exertion. He brings a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun as he spots Peter up against the window. The golden-haired man waves. 

Peter scoots away from the glass. 

“Man, I hope I’m that huge when I grow up,” Ben murmurs faintly, still leering over the armrest and out the window.

Peter takes a fruit roll-up when the box is handed to him, tossing the wrapper aside onto the growing mess on the floor. Torn books, food scraps, wrappers, wet towels, and more have slowly started to pile up in the corners, making the lavish space look more like the aftermath of a week-long rager than the nice penthouse space it is. Bruce had tried to insist that trash should go in the trash can, but the spiders could care less. It’s easier to just web it all up in the corner. 

Peter likes Bruce. Bruce is nice. He wasn’t sure of him at first, but he’s been nothing but gentle towards them so far and always seems to know when they tire of his presence, willingly going back over the webline when he thinks they’re getting too stressed. Though Ben could hang around Bruce for hours, probably. The youngest is by far the bravest in his presence, hanging practically off Bruce’s arm while his two older brothers flit about a more reasonable distance away, always keeping a close eye on their little brother. 

Combined with Ben’s friendliness and the fact they were fine with contact during their introduction two days ago, Bruce had placed one large hand on Kaine’s shoulder to usher him closer to his lesson on folding clothes. Spooked, Kaine immediately flinched away, hissing on reflex. Bruce apologized profusely afterwards, and hasn’t tried to initiate contact since. 

Yeah, Bruce is nice. Though, he doesn’t really understand why he’s palling around with someone like Stark, who Peter has an even harder time getting a read on. 

Stark’s a walking contradiction. He’s both their captor and their savior, an obstacle and a protector. He spouts nonsense about giving them away to a family, while ignoring the fact that they have the Doctors already! Peter refuses to be cowed into whatever this new situation is, but at the same time he’s terrified that Stark will get sick of how uncooperative he’s been and cart only _him_ away, returning him to Fury to live in that tiny cell for the rest of his life, forever kept away from his brothers.

The fruit roll-up suddenly loses its flavor, and he wordlessly spits it out on the floor.

* * *

In the end, it all starts with a single push.

They’re sitting around the open fridge, pawing through the very last of the food inside. It’d been a few hours since Stark and Bruce had left lunch, almost time for Stark to return with dinner, but even with the large plates of food the man brings it’s still not enough to quell all three of their insatiable appetites. So, snacking in between meals helps.

Kaine divvies out three small piles of scraps for them. Peter doesn’t miss the way that he practically throws his allotted food in his direction. 

Peter messes with the R2-D2 keychain, ignoring the yogurt cups and grape scraps thrown before him. Fidgeting with the little plastic robot calms him a bit, and helps distract him from the hollowness he feels eating away inside his chest. He glances up for a moment to see Kaine staring at him.

The tension in the room sizzles.

“You’re thinking really loud again,” the eldest spider says through a mouthful of baby carrots. “What is it?”

Peter turns away, drawing a leg up to hold against his chest. 

A moment passes. Ben speaks up, “You should eat, Peter.”

Peter messes with the edge of his green jacket. “Mm-hmm.” 

Another beat passes, the silence only punctuated by the sounds of his brothers snacking away. Peter doesn’t do much more than push a few grapes around on the floor.

Kaine exhales. “If you’re not going to eat it, I will.” The eldest spider reaches over to steal his yogurt cups, but Ben slaps his hands away.

“Leave him alone,” the youngest pleads.

“He’s not going to eat it,” Kaine hisses, “It’s going to go to waste.” Kaine reaches over again and Ben grabs his wrist. They struggle and bicker back and forth until Peter puts a little bit of super-strength into kicking his side of the pile towards Kaine.

Yogurt and grapes go splattering and bouncing across the kitchenette floor, staining Kaine’s Stark-gifted shorts along with ruining some of his brother’s food.

“What’s with you?!” Kaine shouts, puffed up like an angry cat.

Peter snaps back, “What's with _YOU?!_ ”

Ben tries to get between them, “Shut up! Don’t start!”

Kaine pushes past Ben and shoves Peter hard in the shoulder. “What’s your problem! You’re making a mess!”

“Oh, why don’t you go cry to Stark about it, huh?” Peter spits, pushing back. “Maybe you and Ben can even beg him for a head-pat after dinner!”

“You’re still on about that?!”

Peter throws his hands up, _“Of course I am!_ Why wouldn’t I be! We’re not supposed to be here!”

“Stop yelling!” Ben tries. “We’re waiting for them to come get us, remember?”

Kaine scoffs, _“If_ they come get us.”

Ben and Peter shout in unison, _“They will!_ ”

The eldest continues, hair mussed and expression hardened. “If they wanted to come back for us, why didn’t they take us with them as they left the lab, huh? Why’d they leave us to be found by the metal man?”

Peter’s voice pitches, “Maybe they couldn’t, okay! We saw Dr. Connors -- he was fighting that other guy! Maybe he was on his way to get us!” 

“Sure! Whatever, maybe that’s the case!” Kaine yells, “I don’t know! I’m just trying to make sense of -- of _this_ with what we have!”

“It seems to me that you’re past that whole stage!” Peter gestures wildly to Ben and Kaine’s Stark-gifted clothes. “You’re accepting his gifts! You’re just sitting around waiting for the next meal! You’re not helping me search for an exit so we can -- “ he chokes up, trying to calm himself. 

“Clothes and food aren’t going to hurt us, _stupid!_ Whatever Stark wants, it’s not going to kill us.” Kaine gets up in his face, finger poking his chest, “Maybe if you had any sense rattling around in that thick skull of yours you’d realize that you’re being an _overdramatic little baby.”_

Peter takes a few deep breaths. Deep down, he knows Kaine is right, has been since the beginning. His Sense hasn’t gone off once while here, not even so much as a hum, and Stark’s been treating them better than SHIELD did. As much as he hates it, Kaine’s right! Painfully, horribly, honestly right! But all it does is stoke the flames of Peter’s rage.

“Maybe if you didn’t insist on fighting Fury’s men we wouldn’t be in this situation at all. We’d still be looking for the doctors.”

Kaine reels, blinking dumbly before his face creases in anger again. “You’re… You’re blaming _this_ on me? On me?”

“Yeah!”

Kaine laughs, dumbfounded. _“Really?_ At least I’m not the guy who’s trying to get himself killed every few seconds! What was that stunt, by the way? You bum-rushing Stark. You fucking stupid or something?”

_“You’re stupid!_ ” Peter retorts childishly. “You’re just getting all cozy here with Ben, happy to replace the Doctors with your new pal Stark because --” Peter exhales roughly, almost laughing, “ -- because you’re just _pissy_ that you were _never Warren’s favorite!”_

All the air is pushed out of Peter’s lungs as his back hits the floor, his head cracking against the ground. Kaine pins him, pressing an arm against the pale column of Peter’s throat.

Ben, alarmed, tries to pry the eldest off of his brother. “Stop! He didn’t mean -- !”

Kaine’s arm presses insistent against his Adam's apple. “You… you question my loyalty? You think I’d just _leave_ the Doctors the first chance I got?”

Peter coughs a little. “Sure seems like it. After all, he was always hardest on you.” He gasps around the renewed pressure on his throat before faintly breathing into his brother’s face, “Warren’s little Defect.”

Kaine’s green eyes flash in hurt before they turn into cold, emerald fire. 

Ben squeaks, horrified at what his brother just said, _“Peter!”_

“Say it again, Pete,” Kaine dares him, his face close enough to Peter’s that his brother’s long hair tickles his nose. _“Say it.”_

Peter can feel his heart beating against his ribs. He has to keep himself from smiling deliriously when he feels that buzz, that familiar hum of his Sense springing to life in his head. _Finally._

“Defect,” he faintly breathes. “Senseless.”

* * *

Tony bursts out of the elevator just in time to see Kaine slam Peter into the living room wall.

He skids to a stop at the webline. The billionaire narrowly ducks out of the way of a book thrown at his head by Ben, who screams at him to stay back. 

The boy’s floor is a horrifying chorus of screaming, hissing, and wailing as the two kids chase each other around the space like wild animals. Bookshelves are toppled and the couch is pushed around the room as the kids go rolling across the floor and thrashing up the walls. The blond follows his two friends, frantically trying to pry one off the other depending on who's pinning who in the moment.

He sees Peter put his fist through the coffee table, and he realizes that aside from when he first discovered them, he’s never really seen how damn _powerful_ these kids are. It’s a raw, feral type of power he hasn’t seen since Barnes was found brainwashed and dangerous fresh from the hands of HYDRA. 

Kaine kicks Peter away into the leather loveseat, and the boy promptly _picks the damn thing up_ and chucks it back at Kaine. Kaine hisses in pain as it clips his shoulder. 

Putting on his most commanding dad voice, he yells, _“Kids! Stop it!”_ Alarmed, Ben spins towards him, but the two tearing each other apart on the floor don’t react at all.

Despite being the biggest and stockiest of the three kids, Kaine’s losing the fight. Badly. Peter seems to know exactly what the other boy’s going to do next, nimbly ducking away from every attack, every grab, each dodge making Kaine angrier.

With a wild snarl, Kaine finally pops his arm-knives out, but Peter continues to dodge every jab. An arm-knife is sunk into the couch and draws white lines of stuffing across black leather, stabbed into the wall, scraped against glass. Peter eventually slips up though, tripping on a stray snack wrapper, and the opening allows Kaine to paint a red stripe across his friend’s arm as he falls. Peter yelps in pain as he lands hard on his back.

_“Stop!”_ Tony shouts just as Ben does. The blond teen rushes forward, dragging Kaine off of Peter, but is elbowed away with a single, sharp jab. The distraction gives Peter an opportunity to sweep the legs out from underneath Kaine, leaping and pinning the boy roughly to the ground. Sitting on Kaine’s chest, Peter picks up the eldest by the shoulders and slams him into the floor a few times before Kaine goes lax.

Tony’s heart clenches. _Shit. Did the kid just knock his friend out cold?_ He moves to step over the line, stopping when he sees Kaine’s hands up in the air, surrendering. His arm-knives slide back in and he’s panting underneath Peter’s weight. He goes as tame as a doll underneath his friend, head lolling to the side. 

The quiet is short-lived. Ben tackles Peter off of Kaine with a snarl, and a separate fight starts. This one less violent but wild all the same. 

Ben eventually pins him against the broken coffee table, holding a thrashing Peter down.

“Chill out! _Chill out!”_ Ben hisses, pinning Peter’s wrists and straddling his chest. After a minute of useless flopping underneath the blond, Peter submits to his friend.

Tony holds his hands out uselessly, desire to help clashing with his wish to not step over their boundaries. Then Kaine groans, low and pained, from where he’s still laying and all helpful logic gets thrown out the window.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ben and Peter stiffen as he rushes to the kid’s aid. He kneels down by Kaine, kneecaps complaining at the impact. His hands hover out in front of him, unsure if he should touch the kid to help him up. Kaine's covered in tiny cuts and bruises, the worst of which is a shallow cut that draws a neat scarlet line across his left cheek. His wrists bleed sluggishly as the teen winces and rubs his head.

Kaine finally cracks an eye open at Tony. The boy's breath immediately hitches and he shrinks away from him, back thunking against the window.

“Hey, kid. Are you -- “ Tony starts until his words are choked off by the collar of his grease-stained, ratty band t-shirt. The shirt rips as he’s tossed by the scruff across the room, back over the line. He lands painfully on his shoulder and arm in the hallway.

_“Stay on your side!”_ Ben yells, standing protectively in front of Kaine. “You _promised!”_

“Okay! Okay!” He holds his hands up, arm aching. The kid just tossed him a solid _twenty feet away_ with _one hand_. “Jesus, I’m sorry!”

Ben spins back around to check on Kaine. The kid groans as the blond helps him to his feet, pushing his friend’s long hair aside to check the back of his head, whispering reassurances. 

Peter, still panting, cradles his wounded arm, blood seeping from between his fingers. His blue eyes flash in worry and regret as he watches the other two teens check over each other from across the room.

The deep red trailing down Peter’s elbow snaps Tony into action. “Med-kit. Shit, I’ll go get a med-kit!”

It’s a mad scramble to a lower floor to find that precious white box, FRIDAY helpfully speeding up the elevator along the way. When he finally gets back to the boy’s floor, he finds the bedroom door shut closed. He hurriedly announces his presence with a knock, but gets no answer. If he strains his hearing, small, hushed whimpers can be heard just on the other side. He rattles the doorknob. Locked.

He's about to leave the med-kit by the door when he hears something shift in the living room. Peter’s curled up, back towards him, against the couch. The teen’s sucking on his arm wound, blood pooling around the corners of his mouth.

His friends have locked him out.

“Peter? Kid, I have bandaids. Or, uh, gauze and neosporin if you want it.” He tries, tapping the med-kit’s plastic lid. “That looks like it hurts really bad kiddo, can you let me help?”

Peter glares over his shoulder at the billionaire before turning back around and continuing to lick and wipe his arm on his jacket.

“Kid, please,” Tony begs. “Care to tell me what the hell all this was about? What...what can I do to help? Should I go get Bruce?”

Peter draws his legs up closer to his chest, a move Tony’s come to recognize as Peter’s way of shutting down. 

The billionaire runs a hand through his hair, looking back and forth from the locked bedroom door and Peter. They left their friend out here, alone. Or actually, what did Bruce say, they consider themselves brothers? That...would make sense, they’ve lived their whole lives together.

“Y’know, I never had siblings. But I imagine if I did, we’d tear each other apart all the time too.” 

Peter’s breath hitches, a whimper barely fighting its way out of his choked-up throat.

“But... something tells me this wasn’t your run-of-the-mill sibling spat,” Tony cooly says. “I’m here to help, kid, but I can’t read minds. I need to know what happened. I want to fix this.”

The kid disappears behind the back of the couch, out of view. Tony sits back on his heels with a sigh. Fingers drumming on the med-kit, he palms the Starkphone in his other hand, thumb hovering over Bruce’s contact. 

He’s about to call in the green cavalry when a hand flies around the corner of the hallway.

* * *

Holding his arm against his chest, tasting the copper in his mouth, Peter doesn’t know if he wants to run, scream or cry. Mostly all three at once. Something horribly painful twists itself in his chest. _He hurt Kaine_ , and _Kaine hurt him._

“But... something tells me this wasn’t your run-of-the-mill sibling spat,” Stark says. “I’m here to help, kid, but I can’t read minds. I need to know what happened. I want to fix this.”

Peter crawls away to sit behind the couch. Stark’s the absolute _last_ person he wants to see right now. He wants the Doctors, he wants for Connors to tell him that everything’s under control, he and Warren know more than him -- the spiders needn’t worry about a thing anymore. He wants to feel that calming hand through his hair, that occasional pat against his cheek. He wants… he wants…

_***_

_“What is it, Three?”_

_From behind his glasses, Warren looks down at the eight-year-old spider sitting on the carpeted office floor, allowed to sit in the Doctor’s office as he waits for a blood test to come back. “Can’t you do your homework without fidgeting?”_

_Peter ducks his head. He hadn’t meant to distract the Doctor, he had just finished this page minutes ago and wasn’t really sure what to do with his hands after that. Chemistry was always his best subject, and being away from his brothers is starting to make him restless._

_“Sorry, sir,” Peter squeaks. He fiddles with the edge of his black t-shirt. The young spider tries to calm himself by listening to the scratching of Warren's pen, letting his eyes trace the pattern in the carpet and he curls his bare toes as he traces the swooping lines of Warren’s nice leather loafers._

_Typically, he’d be put to wait in Connors’ office, but the one-armed Doctor must be busy with something else if he’s been told to wait here. If this was Connors’ office, he’d be allowed to stand up and watch the geckos run around in their cage, listen to the Doctor tell him about what all the diagrams mean, and maybe even get a sip of Connors’ nasty pine-smelling drink and smile along when the Doctor laughs at his reaction. But Warren likes peace and quiet, and so that’s what Peter is right now. Quiet as a mouse. He’s cooperative, he’s good._

_And as long as he’s good, he’ll get back to his brothers soon._

_“What_ is _it, Three,” Warren grumbles, fingers pinching his nosebridge. “You’re practically shaking.”_

_Peter looks up at the Doctor. Is he shaking? Sure, it’s a little chilly in here, but what place inside the lab isn’t?_

_“Well?” Warren’s greying mustache quirks downward._

_Peter swallows. Silently, he scoots closer to the desk and raises his hand towards the Doctor, eyes downturned. Compared to Connors, hand-holding is the only way that Warren has ever showed comfort. He fully expects to be spurned, like so many times before. A scoff and an order to just stay still until Connors comes back, most likely. Worst case scenario, he’ll be ordered to do another page, this time with unsolvable problems so Warren has an excuse to smack him upside the head for taking too long._

_Warren sighs tiredly. Papers shuffle as he puts his current work to the side. He reaches down, “Homework first.”_

_After the Doctor's settled, Peter raises his small hand again, and Warren holds it in a loose, disinterested grip. The Doctor's attention focuses on his homework, dominant hand busy grading._

_Peter smiles to himself, head tucked to his chest to hide his glee. The simple contact is immediately grounding, melting away his anxiety even when the Doctor’s grip tightens painfully whenever Warren finds a mistake in his_ _work._

_***_

He creeps closer to the barrier. 

Maybe if he just pretends... If he can just imagine that the man on the other side of the wall is the Doctor… He can pretend for a bit, can’t he?

Peter nearly cries when his hand is enclosed in a strong, sure grip. 

And he can’t stop the sob that tears out of his chest when a calloused thumb starts to stroke soft circles into the back of his palm.

* * *

Tony wasn’t sure what to do at first. He dumbly stares at the arm sticking out around the corner, palm up and slightly trembling. His eyes dart to the med-kit. Is Peter asking for a bandage?

Then the hand makes a weak grabby-hand motion, the same gesture Morgan makes when she's nervous in front of paparazzi or meeting new people, and the realization hits him like a semi.

Impossibly gently, he takes the boy’s hand in his own, squeezing down when Peter doesn’t jerk away from his touch. The kid hiccoughs, and when he leans around the corner, he sees Peter curled into a tiny ball, head between his knees. Shuttering, heaving breaths shake his thin shoulders as he tries to keep a hold of himself.

Tony rubs his thumb into the back of the kid’s hand, and the simple action seems to break the kid down even more. A keening whine is muffled into the fabric of the kid’s pants and the billionaire's hand is squeezed.

Choked-up, Peter’s voice cracks around heaving breaths. “I -- I don’t understand -- “

Tony continues to whisper reassurances, rubbing calm circles into the kid’s hand. “I know, kid. You’re alright.”

He wants to say more, he wants to _do_ more for the kid.But the words get caught somewhere in the back of his throat. 

Instead, he reaches over with his other hand and strokes up and down the soft hair on the kid’s forearm. Peter doesn’t flinch away, in fact he leans into the touch, allowing the comfort.

“Let it all out, buddy. I get it.”

And they sit like that, hand in hand, and Tony lets the kid cry.

* * *

It’s nearly a half-hour later when Stark finally breaks away with a genuine apology, leaving the med-kit behind for them to use if needed. 

Peter has to stop himself from reaching out again, seeking that contact like a simpering child. Stark was...nice. He held his hand. Didn’t turn him away, or blame him for the fight and decide he was too dangerous to take care of anymore. He wipes the dampness from his face.

As soon as the elevator doors close, he goes over to the bedroom door. Kneeling in front of it, he knocks.

No answer.

“Ben? ...Kaine?” Peter knocks again, voice shaking, _“Please,_ I’m sorry.”

He thumps his head against the wood, tears threatening to make new tracks down his face. “I’m sorry, please let me in.”

The door creaks open, and Peter bows down as low as he can, the same position he would take if he were begging for the Doctors’ forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been…” He chokes, stumbling over words, “I overreacted.”

“Yeah, you’ve been doing that a lot lately,” Ben says, quietly.

Ben is holding the door open, brows scrunched in worry. Kaine’s not far behind him, his eyes red-rimmed and shiny with fresh tears.

Seeing Kaine like that twists regret inside of himself like a searing knife. Peter begs, _“I’m sorry!_ I -- I didn’t -- “

Kaine rushes forward, sliding to his knees and wrapping Peter in a crushing hug. Peter breaks, balling his hands in the fabric of Kaine's torn tank top and muffling frantic apologies into his brother’s collarbone.

“I -- I said _awful_ things about you. I shouldn’t have -- I’m just -- “ Peter hiccoughs. “I’m just so _scared.”_

Kaine’s hot breath tickles his ear as he talks, “I know. We all are, stupid.” He leans back, puffy, tearshined green eyes meeting blue. “I cut you.”

Peter holds his arm out, it’s still bleeding, but it’s not bad. He sniffs, wiping at his eyes. “It’s okay. I deserved it.”

Kaine pulls him closer again, “No, you didn’t. Don’t say that.” The eldest buries a wet cheek against Peter’s ear. “Everything’s been crazy this past few days, so I don’t blame you for acting the way you did, even if it makes no sense to me.” 

Kaine swallows back a lump in his throat, “You may be a total idiot, but you’re _our_ idiot. A spider. My little brother.”

Ben joins them on the floor, arms snaking around the two older spiders. Kaine frees one arm from where it's smushed between them to hug the youngest close too. “My little brothers.”

Peter blinks the wetness from his eyes as he rests his chin on Kaine’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he simply says.

They hold each other on the floor for a few delicate moments, until Kaine speaks up again, his voice barely a whisper.

“I know you don’t want to completely trust Bruce or Stark so… would it be better to just trust me instead?” Kaine murmurs into his brothers’ hair, chin pillowed on their heads. “Would you trust me to know what’s good for us?”

Ben raises his head a bit, knocking into Kaine’s chin. He whispers, “You don’t have a Sense…”

“You guys worry about the Sense. If something pings or whatever, you tell me, obviously. But with everything else, would you be okay with putting your trust in me?”

Peter fists his hands in the fabric of the eldest’s tank top. Kaine’s offering to take the weight off his shoulders, put their complete faith in him just like they would the Doctors. No more worrying. No more uncertainty. It’s a no-brainer.

“Yeah, yes,” Peter muffles into his brother’s shoulder, tears threatening to spill again. 

“Good.” Kaine tightens his hold on his siblings. “I love you guys.”

* * *

Tony numbly walks out of the elevator into the common floor. He flexes his hand. It’s like he can feel the ghost of Peter’s palm there, seeking comfort from an adult like a lost kid would.

It pained him to no end to leave him there. That broken expression, the one that haunted his dreams and mind before finding the kids, watched Tony leave him behind. Who knows if his other two friends -- er, _brothers_ \-- would have let him back inside.

He’ll be right back, he promised. He just needs…

Rounding the corner, he comes to a screeching halt.

Natasha and Clint are leaning on the bar counter in the far corner of the room. Both are in casual clothes, and Clint’s taking this whole ‘no-costumes-on-site’ order as an excuse to wear little more than pajamas everywhere. But that’s not the unusual part of this picture. The casual attire contrasts violently with the woman beside Natasha.

Long blond hair and piercing blue eyes turn around to meet his gaze. This woman’s wearing a tactical suit, a wide white stripe painted down her front with black bordering, with gold accents adorning the rest of her costume. Two long metal staves are strapped to one of her thighs, right next to a... SHIELD-issued comm-link. Great. Awesome. God, he hopes Fury isn’t lurking around here somewhere.

She smirks when she sees him, eyebrows arching upward as she takes in his disheveled appearance. 

Tony adjusts the torn collar of his t-shirt. “Ah, hello? Who are you and who let you in here?” 

She folds a tablet against her chest as she strides to meet him. The ghostly warmth of Peter's palm is overwritten as she takes his hand in a crushing handshake.

“Bobbi Morse, Agent of SHIELD,” she greets. With a cruel flair, she unfolds the tablet held against her chest to show him the screen. It’s playing a video of the boy’s floor, replaying the brawl between Kaine and Peter. 

Flashing a wicked smile, she says, “I’m here for the triplets.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOBBI!!! i love mockingbird, shes got a kickass costume and is constantly overlooked (i think!) so i hope to do her justice!! 
> 
> ive been trying to tame my wild-ass word count, lemme know if its working lol 
> 
> next chapter: bobbi introduction, the kids continue to adjust, and the fluff really starts! (hopefully!)
> 
> also i'd like to thank you all for all the support! every comment, kudos, and bookmark makes my day!


	15. puzzle pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi arrives, Tony and Bruce do a little spring cleaning, and puzzles are solved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW! Again, what strange times we live in. I had to, once again, move out of my dorm in a single day, which I am not happy about (I have so much shit)! Making this the second time I've been kicked out of this specific dorm (first was for mold! Thanks UTK!) Starting to think that waking up bright and early on the first day of classes to the apartments next to me on /fire/ was an omen after all lmao
> 
> Hope everyone stays healthy!

“I’m here for the triplets.”

Tony’s mind screeches to a halt, his heart dropping out the bottom of his stomach. His eyes focus in on the tablet's video, where Peter's tossing a whole loveseat over his head like it was nothing.

“What? No,” he quickly says, clearing his throat. “No, no. They’re fine.” Kaine snarls over the tablet speakers. “What triplets?” 

Morse cracks an amused eyebrow up at him. Her gaze slowly draws over his ripped t-shirt, the butterfly bandage over his healing nose, the not-yet-healed bruises on his forearm.

He holds out his arm like it's the first time he’s noticed the fading purple blotches. “What, these? Just a workshop accident. DUM-E was hurrying along with the biggest piece of pure titanium alloy you can imagine and -- _boom_ \-- whacked me right in the arm with it.”

“ _'A workshop accident’_ …” Morse parrots sarcastically. Her weight shifts to one hip as she hugs the tablet to her chest.

He dusts off his shirt reflexively, swallowing. “Yeah,” he confirms. “A workshop accident. I mean, Clint, you know how much of an OSHA violation my workshop is, right?”

Clint raises his eyebrows and leans on his fist on the bar counter, smiling. Tony can feel the blood rushing in his ears. What about this is so amusing? 

“Yeah, it’s a real death-trap,” Clint agrees. 

Tony gestures to the archer, “See? Thank you.”

Morse scrubs through the footage on her tablet. “Care to tell me how that piece of titanium alloy left finger-shaped bruises, then, Stark? And why only days ago, Subject Two grabbed you in that exact spot?”

Fucking SHIELD agents. Though, it wasn’t his best lie.

Tony runs his hands down his face, through his hair. “Look, what do you want? Hm? Because if Fury thinks he can just waltz back in here and whisk the kids away because of - of a _few outbursts_ , I’m sorry, he’s delusional.”

The agent remains impassive as he continues. He’s trying to be as imposing as he can be, but Morse is _tall_ , taller than him by at least a few inches. “And his name is _Kaine_ , thank you very much. So, you want to tell me the _specific_ reason you’re here before I lay you out on the front lawn for trespassing on private Stark Industries property?”

Bobbi Morse narrows her eyes at Stark, an unruffled confidence oozing from her posture. Tony spares a few glances at Clint and Natasha sitting at the bar behind her, but they’re impassive. Stone-faced, Natasha sips from a cup of tea as she watches the confrontation.

Swallowing, he meets the agents piercing blue eyes again. These kids will _not_ go back to Fury, he'll bust out the Iron Suit if he has to. He prompts, “Well, Agent Morse?”

Morse remains still for a few moments, then a crack forms in her facade. Her lips quirk upwards, her eyes crinkle, and soon she has to take a step back as she doubles over in laughter. She flings hair out of her face as she straightens up again, an honest smile painted on her face. 

Morse turns to the two other spies at the bar counter, shrilly exclaiming, “You -- You weren’t kidding! He’s attached!”

Stark blinks. Natasha makes the smallest of smirks and Clint’s scruffy mug cracks out into the biggest shit-eating grin he’s ever seen.

“Excuse me?”

Morse spins back around, her icy blue eyes now a few degrees warmer. “Wow, Fury wasn’t joking around when he said you got attached just like that!” She snaps her fingers.

“Uh...?” 

The agent clears her throat, composing herself. “Stark, I’m here on Director Fury’s orders.”

“Yeah, I get that. Why has he ordered you to take them?” 

Morse brushes back a flyaway strand of hair. “I’m not here to take the kids,” she says. “Fury sent me as his contact between you and SHIELD. I’m here to make sure that the triplets are adjusting well and, if need be, facilitate their return to SHIELD custody. Fury thinks you’d sooner let the boys beat you to a bloody pulp before ever following through on your agreement, and after those little theatrics you just tried to pull, I’d say I believe him.”

Tony feels like a popped balloon. “Oh,” he eloquently starts. “You’re not here to... remove the kids?”

Morse smiles, “No, I just didn’t believe Nat and Clint when they said you were being a total mother hen to kids who seem to hate your guts.”

Natasha and Clint wave innocently from the bar counter. Fucking SHIELD agents.

“We thought, hey, pick a few choice words and just sit back and watch how you extrapolate it out,” Morse shrugs. “Kinda funny to watch you panic for a moment there. And here I thought the great Iron Man was unshakable.”

Tony scoffs, ignoring the jab. “What took Fury so long? Why is he sending an agent now instead of a week ago?”

“Because no one wanted this job?” She turns back around, walking back to the bar to take a seat two places down from Natasha. “Stark, I’m here as a glorified social worker at best. You think you can just ask an organization filled with super-spies _‘Hey, who wants to be a babysitter for a few months!’_ and get a room full of eager volunteers? I just happened to draw the short straw.”

_Okay, fair enough._ Tony follows the agent and hugs onto the back of the empty barstool between her and Natasha. She fumbles with the tablet.

“No need to patch me in to Friday or uh, Karen, is it? I already have access to their files and video feed.” 

“Wow, okay. And no one was going to tell me?”

Clint, shit-eating grin still on full display, leans on the granite counter to say, “Well, you were pretty busy up until a few minutes ago.”

Smiling, Morse scrubs through the video feed until it’s a repeat clip of Ben tossing him like a ragdoll across the living room and into the hallway. 

“You saw all that?”

Morse nods. “From start to finish. I also ran over the footage from yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that... Fury wasn’t joking around when he said you’re in over your head. Quite the bundles of joy you picked up.”

“...And what did you think of it?” He tentatively asks, afraid of the answer.

Bobbi sighs, “Stark, I’m not a total monster. I can tell the difference between when a kid is stressed and lashes out and when a kid is aggressive just to be aggressive. I’m not that big of an asshole, even if I do agree with Fury on how all this would be better handled at a SHIELD facility.”

“Well, that’s never happening, so just forget it. Why’d they start fighting?”

The agent scrubs to the beginning of the fight, a few hours after Bruce gave them his lesson on TV. She turns up the volume since the kids tend to talk in hushed tones even when people aren’t around, but as feathers ruffle the volume increases exponentially.

They still miss their old home, that’s no surprise, even if it's a bit disappointing. What is a surprise, however...

Defect. Peter called Kaine a _defect._

“...Why?” Tony asks into the uncomfortable silence.

“My guess is as good as yours, Stark,” Bobbi shrugs. “Could be a pecking order thing imposed by their previous caretakers to encourage competition, or could be a literal ‘defect’ in Two, er, _Kaine_.”

Natasha clicks her nails against the teacup in her hands. “The other two are ‘genetic improvements’, right? There could be an underlying component to their mutations we’re missing.”

Bobbi hums. She jumps to live feed and taps the camera for the bedroom. “Whatever it was, it seems it’s all water under the bridge now.”

The kids are gathered around the med-kit, placing bandages or pressing damp towels to each other’s wounds. Peter can’t seem to stop hanging off Kaine, and vice versa. Kaine painstakingly wraps Peter’s wounded arm in gauze, while Peter licks his thumb and wipes it across the few cuts marring the eldest’s face. A tender moment that’s in complete opposition to the screaming match the two were engaged in not even an hour ago. 

“Man, I wish my kids made up that quickly,” Clint cooes.

“They’re dependent on each other,” Natasha observes.

Bobbi shuts off the tablet. “Well, of course they are. They’re all they have. You don’t make enemies with your only allies.”

The agent stands up from the table, “Anyways, Stark, I’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future, making sure you’re not going to do something crazy like...releasing them in the middle of Central Park because you think they need some fresh air.”

_“Not_ on the agenda,” Tony grumbles. “But fine. East wing, sixth or seventh floor is free, you’ll know if it’s not if you find Sam’s junk food stash littered everywhere but the kitchen cabinets. And you have to get rid of the costume. No ‘stumes on site anywhere on Compound property while they’re here.”

Bobbi pauses, “But I’m not on the list of LMDs?”

“Ground rules, no exceptions. If I can’t fly around here in my kickass multi-million dollar armor for a few months, you can’t walk around in your kinky penguin suit.”

Tony quickly turns on his heel to leave, leaving Morse’s offended gasp to be immediately covered up by Clint’s rancorous laughter.

* * *

He returns only a half hour later with dinner for the kids, but they’re fast asleep. Well, most of them are.

Tony places a plate of sloppily-made chicken wraps (stolen from Cap’s health-food stash) near the bedroom webline when he catches Kaine’s eye. The kid's sitting upright in the drooping web-nest.

Only the upper chest and head of the teen is visible from his standing position in the hallway, but the billionaire can see how Kaine regards him with wary curiosity. His green eyes glint like a cat’s in the darkened room, the curtains drawn and the lights off. He’s about to greet the kid on instinct, but Kaine brings a finger to his lips, silently shushing him. 

Someone makes a low, sleepy sound in the web, drawing the eldest’s attention. Tony sees Kaine’s upper arm move to lovingly stroke the source of the noise.

He leaves them in peace. It’s only later, when he’s reviewing Karen’s footage of the fight's aftermath in his workshop, that he hears Kaine make his promise.

It also gives him a new clue. The kids keep mentioning one word in their conversations -- sense. He didn’t think much of it at first, but if they’re constantly mentioning how their ‘sense’ is quiet or worrying over the fact that Kaine doesn’t have any ‘sense’, it must mean something more to them. Is this the so-called defect?

Tony hardly gets any sleep that night, scouring both SHIELD’s files and the unburnt lab docs SHIELD allowed him for any mention of a ‘sense’, but finds nothing. Nada. 

Come morning, the shift in the boys’ demeanor is evident. Breakfast is uneventful, the teens are not keen on talking about the previous day, opting to eat their pancakes from behind the closed bedroom door. 

That’s all okay, though, because the billionaire has taken to bringing his work with him to the boys’ floor, sitting against the hallway wall to tinker with small projects. Beats awkwardly waiting around doing nothing and hoping the kids will talk to him. Maybe they’ll even take an interest in his work, because that’s what kids do right? Kids have an innate urge to stick their noses in your business, if Morgan’s anything to go by. 

He just hopes to any higher power listening that their previous circumstances haven’t squashed the curiosity out of them.

The bedroom door opens a crack, and he makes brief eye contact with Kaine as the teen places three licked-clean plates outside. The door closes again. 

Last night, Bobbi sent him additional materials SHIELD had collected, consisting of a few videos of their captivity from uncorrupted to mildly-corrupted security footage taken from the laboratory, all attached in a strongly worded email. 

The videos are hard to watch. Not in the sense that they’re anything gory or graphic, but it gives him the same creepy feeling when reading their files -- they’re cold, direct and clinical. It’s simply grainy security footage of children going about their day laughing, playing, eating, and napping in a _cage_ like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

One video starts with the kids sleeping in one of those boxes propped up high in the middle-left of the room. Three pairs of legs spill out of multiple entrances, the space too small for all three but it’s obvious they refuse to sleep apart despite how much more comfortable that’d be. Then mealtime comes, and Tony’s relieved that it looks like a lot, and admittedly healthier food than he’s been giving them. He’d assumed they were well-fed while living in the lab, since none of them have hoarded or fought over food during the week they’ve been here. That’s a blessing at least.

What they were starved of is interaction. The only contact they had with their caretakers was through a glass wall, and it chills him right to the core watching people pass by the window, totally ignoring the children pressed up against the glass, begging for even the slightest bit of attention. He fast-forwards through a slightly-corrupted piece of footage where Peter sits and lazily jostles a rope that leads outside the window for an _hour_ before some employee stops to play a clearly uneven match of tug-of-war. 

It makes why they’re so clingy towards one another so apparent. As far as he can guess, it’s likely that the only consistent source of interaction they’ve ever had has been each other. On the videos, they look genuinely happy together in that room, all smiles like they don’t care about what they’re being denied. Because they _don’t know_ , they have no way _to_ know what it is they’re missing.

The worst clip, however, is only a few minutes long and the most corrupted. For the first half, it’s only Peter and Kaine in the room, clearly on edge. They’re sitting close to one another by the window, but they’re not begging for attention despite how a employee briefly pauses to draw a tic-tac-toe board on the glass.

Then suddenly the boys scoot away, obediently hugging the back wall as a large group of people in scrubs pass by the glass and enter through a side door. They silently lay an unconscious Ben down on the bare floor, and as soon as they leave, the two boys creep forward to examine their brother. They lift Ben’s shirt to see a thick wad of gauze taped down on the lower right of his back. Peter rearranges the drugged boy so that the blond’s head is pillowed on his lap as they wait for the too-still teen to wake up.

Experimentation. The thought makes bile burn the back of his throat. At least the clip allows him to hope that they were always anesthetized before going under the knife. 

The videos definitely contributed to his involuntary all-nighter. And all throughout, he never saw the exalted doctors Peter had mentioned by name.

Sighing, Tony gathers up the plates and brings up a blueprint for a new Iron Armor on his tablet, since the kids were so easily able to cut into the chest of the old one. As he gets comfortable, the heel of his hand lands in a sticky puddle on the hallway floor. 

Grimacing, he recognizes the smell of Morgan’s sugary-sweet soda that he gave the kids a while ago. Lord, this floor’s a mess, and the fight yesterday has made it all worse. Pepper always said that a clean space lowers stress levels, and that’s probably a good priority to have right now. 

Tony startles as the bedroom door swings open again. Attached to the ceiling, Kaine makes his way to the living room, his two brothers following closely behind. They’re all wearing the new clothes he bought them, even Peter! All are in a combination of too-big solid color t-shirts and running shorts. The two younger kids spare him wary glances as they clambor after the eldest. Peter scowls at him -- their little hand-holding moment yesterday obviously hasn’t changed the way the kid feels towards him.

“Is it weird that seeing you guys, y’know, regularly defying the law of gravity is starting to become normal for me now?”

“Mmm,” Kaine hums, ignoring him. He detaches from the ceiling and Tony watches the teen rearrange the toppled furniture so that they can settle down on the couch. 

“I’ll... be right here if you need me,” he says to no fanfare as a soap opera theme starts to play just out of sight.

The rest of the morning treads on, perfectly unremarkable. A good thing, since he knows Bobbi’s watching all activity from her oh-so-graciously gifted guest floor. The kids are more subdued, switching between barely paying attention to the television show and staring out the windows at the beautiful day. 

Ben hesitantly waves at something outside, piquing Tony’s interest. He asks who he waved to, and is met with a quirk of an eyebrow and a shrug. Ah, right. 

Kaine speaks up from where he’s laying beside the youngest. “Gold hair. Big.” The kid holds his hands out for emphasis.

“Oh, that’s Steve, probably. He’s a friend too.”

Ben perks up, “Mutant?”

Yes, he is. Mutate, specifically, as Bruce would correct. But being upstaged by _two_ people with these kids simply because he’s a normal? That’d be unbearable. 

“Er... no. Not really? I mean...”

Kaine looks to the ceiling. “Karen?”

_“Captain Rogers is classified in my database as a mutate.”_

Peter huffs and rolls over on his side facing the window. Ben _‘ohhh’s_ quietly.

“Is he going to meet us too?” Ben asks.

“Er, do you want him to?”

Both younger boys immediately look to Kaine. The eldest silently appraises him and the man outside before declaring, “No.”

Ben pouts a little and Peter returns to gazing outside, but they make no counterargument.

Kaine’s taking his new position as the group’s little leader extremely seriously. When one of the other two splits off to go shower, the eldest keeps a burning eye on the billionaire as his sibling swings across the ceiling and into the bedroom. And when that sibling comes back, hair damp and shivering, Kaine begrudgingly retrieves a blanket from the web-hammock to wrap his younger siblings in. 

Ben and Peter don’t seem to mind their brother’s sudden attentiveness. In fact, this is probably the most relaxed Tony’s ever seen Peter. The brunette’s all sprawled over either a brother or a couch cushion, no longer curled into a tight ball and glaring at anything that moves. Both he and Ben still tense up whenever he shifts position, but it’s a good start. It feels like all the kids are on the same page, at least.

Tony ropes Bruce into coming back for lunch, mostly to help with the cleanup. They’re armed with a tote of cleaning supplies, and the good doctor has a comically small shoulder bag of stuff he brought for the kids, including a few gifts. Bruce had heard about the fight and thought that a few toys would help divert their energy somewhere less destructive. 

In the elevator, Tony panics a little, remembering their conversation from yesterday. “Bruce, quick, do I smell like a robot?”

He laughs, “You smell like you fell into Pepper’s perfume collection.”

“Perfect.” Because that's exactly what he did.

The green giant is greeted with silent enthusiasm. Ben springs off the back of the couch to cling to the ceiling in a happy crouch, and Bruce’s face lights up like a Christmas tree at the display. Peter and Kaine hover just around the corner, more wary than the blond but still welcoming the giant’s arrival with a neutral acceptance. 

Tony’s plate of deli rolls is a mere afterthought as Bruce starts to pull stuff out of his bag. The billionaire recognizes a few Rubik’s cubes that the team had used to stump Cap when they were showcasing what he missed during his 70-year-long nap, as well as a few other brain teasers and one 1,000-piece puzzle of a Claude Monet painting. 

Cradled in the palm of Bruce, the colorful cubes catch the boy’s eyes. On the ceiling, Ben leans closer to snatch one away. 

Bruce keeps the toys away from curious hands. “Hey, first things first. Clean up, then gifts. Can I step over the webline?” 

The kids frown at the denial of presents, but they give the giant space to step across anyways. Bruce starts small, picking up stray wrappers and putting them in the trash. The kids flit about in the periphery, only watching. 

When that’s done, Bruce rights the toppled furniture and gathers up the remains of the broken coffee table. He places the broken furniture on Tony’s side of the webline so he can stuff it in the elevator to send down to Happy, who's gathered a few maintenance staff to help dump it.

All the loose broken stuff cleaned away, now comes the...difficult part.

“Uh...your webs, how do we clean them?” Tony asks, staring helplessly at the thick mats of webbing covering mounds of trash and broken wood clumped together in practically every corner of the room.

From their perch on the back of the couch, the teens unhelpfully shrug, snacking away at the deli rolls. “They dissolve,” Ben offers.

Fascinated, Bruce pokes at the mass of webbing that glues the broken bookshelf to the corner by the window. Huge chunks of splintered wood poke menacingly through the sticky mass. The old webbing sticks to his hand like a weak resin, and when the doctor pulls back it sticks to him like cheese stretching away from a pizza slice before fading into nothing.

“Amazing, the adhesive quality of your webbing has broken down into some sort of...weak bio-syrup,” Bruce mumbles. He shuffles through his bag, retrieving a small plastic cup before pausing, “Am I allowed to take a sample?”

They furrow their brows, confused, but nod their permission. 

After some tugging and experimentation with different cleaning agents, Bruce finally untangles the wood from the webbing. And after the tacky stuff is bundled up and sent downstairs for Happy to deal with, it’s all relatively smooth sailing. 

Tony mops down the hallway while Bruce does the living room. He’s never been much for maintenance work, growing up in a home where that job was outsourced, and when it wasn’t, like in college, he was often too drunk to notice the mess. It was only with the introduction of Morgan he found himself more hands-on with cleaning, just so he could make sure she didn’t hurt herself accidentally by stuffing a metal bolt in her mouth or something. But it still doesn’t mean he enjoys wiping up bits of squished Lil Debbie Cakes from between the floorboards. 

After a while, all that’s left is the boys' bedroom. It’s fairly easy to get the boys to agree to take down the web-hammock. Much to Bruce’s and Tony’s fervent insistence that he find an actual knife, Kaine pops his arm-knives out to cut it down. 

“Good lord,” Tony gawks as he struggles to pull free a very sticky pillow from the hammock after the whole mess is dragged out into the hallway, “You guys were sleeping on this?”

“It’s safe,” Kaine retorts, clinging to the corner and licking away the blood seeping from his wrists.

“It’s _nasty_ is what it is,” Tony huffs, piling the bedsheets in one pile to be taken away and washed. “It’s like a bed made out of silly string. Smells like it too. If you guys want a bunk bed or something, you can just say so.”

As if to answer his question, the teens web a smaller, neater web-hammock that hugs close to the ceiling, ready to be restocked with fresh pillows and blankets. 

* * *

“No, no, the goal is to get solid colors on all sides, see?” Bruce says over a frustrated grunt and plastic shuffling.

Bruce has situated the kids on the clean floor where the coffee table once stood, showing off his bag of tricks. Tony busies himself with the blueprint again, excluded as per usual as all three kids struggle to figure out Rubik’s cubes.

A plastic crunching sounds from the living room. 

“Ah, Peter!” Bruce yelps. “Don’t break it!” 

Peter keeps the toy away from Bruce’s reaching hands. He growls, _“Mine.”_

Bruce sighs, “You’re not going to have anything to solve if you snap it in half. Here, why doesn’t Tony show you how to do it.”

The billionaire’s head snaps up to three skeptical teenage faces looking his way. “Me?”

After a little coaxing, Kaine tosses his Rubik’s cube to him. He looks over the jumbled toy in his hands, “Uh, okay. Well, _I am_ the team’s reigning champion with this thing, so I guess I can show you what I can do.”

Bruce herds the kids closer, and Tony speed-solves it, the plastic clicking under his hands. The kids eyes widen as he produces a solved cube. 

“Do it again,” Ben mumbles, trying to follow with his own toy.

Tony speed-solves it again, a little faster this time. And then again, and again, the kids enraptured the whole time. “Do you want me to go slower? I can show you step-by-step.”

There’s a plastic clicking for a half-minute from Peter at the back of the group, before the kid triumphantly raises his own, _solved_ cube.

Tony gawks, “Holy shit!” 

Kaine snatches his cube back, and both boys spin to face Peter. Peter does it again for his brothers, and then again, and again, until all of them can solve the puzzle almost as fast as Tony.

Ben looks expectantly up at Bruce, solved cube in his lap, “We did it.”

Bruce sputters a bit, “Uh, yeah. You did. Just by watching Tony?”

“Mm-hmm.” Ben confirms, “We’re good at following instructions.”

* * *

The boys stare oddly at the Claude Monet puzzle. Their eyes never leave the cover art on the box as Bruce spills the pieces onto the floor. Tony is left watching on across the webline, picking up on the kids’ shift in demeanor.

Concerned, Bruce asks, “Is everything okay? Are you tired?”

Kaine reaches out to take the cover box, where the painting is blown up for reference.

“Oh, do you... recognize it?”

“Impressionist,” Kaine simply says. “The use of simple strokes to capture the essence of reality, but with key details missing.”

Tony cuts in, “You didn’t strike me as a kid with an eye for art. You like Monet?”

Kaine’s brows knit in confusion and hurt. “I don’t know…”

Bruce shuffles the pieces around, gathering them up in a pile. “Hey, if you’re feeling weird we can pick this up again some other time.”

“Doctor Connors had an impressionist painting in his office,” Kaine says, quickly. “A sunset.”

The two adults in the room go tense, sharing a look. Tony proceeds carefully, “Oh yeah? Was it pretty?”

“Yeah. But not as much...as the real thing,” he whispers, almost as if what he’s saying is scandalous. “Real sunsets...are really pretty.”

“Had you not seen a sunset before, kid?”

The boy shakes his head, his brothers gone very still beside him. 

Tony has to hold back his bubbling anguish. Denied seeing a sunset! He remembers them fixated on the day outside earlier this morning -- how many other things are totally new to them? Have they ever felt grass underneath their feet before? 

“How does that make you feel?” Bruce tries. 

Kaine suddenly goes stony-faced, walling himself off. “Doesn’t matter.” The teen digs through the pieces, ending the conversation before Tony can press further. “No more dumb questions.”

The puzzle is only half-solved when they decide it’s time to go. They’ve been here over four hours already, well into dinnertime, and the kids are getting restless with Bruce in their space, so both adults take that as their cue to leave them be for now.

A little while later, when Tony returns alone with some greasy fast food and clean, washed blankets, the puzzle is left unfinished and the kids are facing out the window. It’s early sunset, the sun is kissing the tops of the forest at the far end of the property and bathing the kids in a halo of rich orange against the dim atmosphere of the living room.

He sets the grease-stained bag on his side of the webline, but they don’t move from the window. Tony doesn’t know if he should disturb their moment.

Kaine eventually gets up and retrieves the food and blankets, taking them back to eat thoughtfully by his siblings. 

“It really is pretty,” Tony breathes into the silence. “Amazing what you can take for granted when you’ve seen it everyday of your life.”

“Mmm,” Kaine hums impassively around a mouthful of burger. Peter plays a weak game of footsie with his older brother, just annoying enough for Ben to recline back on the brunette’s legs to keep them still. If someone told him that two of these kids were trying to tear each other apart a day ago, he’d tell them they were crazy.

Tony sighs, “Kid, we gotta talk about something.”

The boys snap to attention. Peter freezes up the worst, his eyes wide as saucers and cheeks chipmunked out around a mouthful of fries.

“It’s nothing bad!” Tony quickly soothes, “I just want to know a few things, so I can understand you better.”

_Defect_ and _sense._ Two words that have fueled arguments and sparked fights during their stay here. When he asks, the boys look surprised. _‘ That’s it?_ ’ their faces seem to say. 

“Mind explaining what a ‘sense’ is first?” 

Kaine defers to his two brothers, a first for today, and nods when Ben looks at the eldest for permission. 

“‘Sense’ is a precognizant ability that only Three and Four have,” Ben answers, sort of robotically. “A danger sense, uh, if you will. Um…” He pauses, as if trying to remember the words of a script.

“Our bodies produce a high amount of adrenaline, and can respond automatically to a wide variety of threats,” Peter finishes. “Doctor Warren calls it an extrasensory mutation akin to a low level of clairvoyance.”

Definitely a script. The kids did suggest that they knew they were going to be sold, were they expected to give their own pitch too?

“Okay, and the defect is…?”

Peter flinches at the word, shrinking in on himself.

“Two never got a Sense,” Kaine says. “ _I_ don’t have a Sense. I can’t react as fast as Three and Four, so I’ll get hurt more often, I always do. It’s why they’re more valuable.”

“Don’t say that about yourself, you’re all valuable -- priceless, even. Human life can’t be assigned a monetary value.”

“It’s just a fact,” Kaine hisses. “Three and Four are perfections of the Project CENTAUR formula. I’m just a test run, a proof of concept, like One. But I’m still useful, I’m stronger than my brothers, and have stingers and venom.”

“Centaur? One?” The files mentioned both by name. CENTAUR was the mysterious project the lab was operating under, supposedly. Most of the specifics of the Project are blacked out, redacted, but he at least knows the head doctors assigned to the project, the acronym, and the basic plans they had in store for the kids. Subject One, on the other hand, makes dread settle in his stomach like a ball of poisonous lead.

“CENTAUR, Creation of Enhanced Threat Assessment and Underground Response,” Ben parrots, “Subject One was the first.”

Tony’s heart sinks. He knows the story. One died soon after it was born of cellular degeneration, only to be remembered as a vague case study in a scientific paper penned by Connors about the effects of such a violent backfiring of the mutagenic process. He could have been talking to _four_ spiderkids right now. He doesn’t know which is more kind, One not having to suffer long or suffering just long enough to be able to get to this point.

“ _‘The only difference between the failure of One and Two is that Two’s still walking.’_ That’s what Warren said, once,” Peter murmurs. “But my brother’s not a failure, he’s just different! Warren just...likes things a certain way. He’s strict with us.”

Tony clenches his teeth. “He’s a little beyond strict, kid.”

Kaine wraps an arm around each brother. “It’s fine. I know my purpose in life, I can’t change anything about it.”

Talking about their designations seems to have opened them up a little bit, so he seizes that opportunity and eases them into talking about a day in the life there. Staring off into space with a faraway look, Peter tells him that they got lots of rest, food, and exercise. The little doors in the walls led to either the washroom, where receiving nurses would take near-daily blood tests and other data before tossing them in the shower, and the training room, where they’d sometimes fight LMDs, run obstacle courses, and other activities. They don’t talk in detail about the doctors, but Ben smiles a little when he recounts Connors giving them chocolate for the first time. The chocolate bunny was locked away in the chest of an LMD, and the kids had to restrain and rip the robot open to get at the treat.

“It was a lot like when we left, that same mech came and broke into our home. We were going to rip open its chest too,” Ben finishes, pushing his forgotten half of a burger around on the floor.

A chill goes down Tony’s spine. “What...What made you stop?”

Ben meekly shrugs, “...It had a heartbeat. We’d never broken anything _living_ before…We didn’t know what to do. The Doctors would, though.” Ben looks up at him, uncertain brown eyes black in the evening dim. “They’ll come back for us.”

“Kid…”

“No more questions,” Kaine says, shifting his attention back out the window. The two other kids follow suit, and the blanket is draped across their bodies, drawing them all closer to each other.

Tony stares uselessly at the wall of backs. He settles down, cross-legged, to watch the sunset with them from his spot in the hallway. The bracelets blink soft green, reflecting off the glass as the dark purple chases away the yellow sun over the edge of the world. Guilt settles hard in his chest, he's no better than the laboratory doctors! He's denying them the experience of _really_ seeing a sunset. The buzz of insects, the fading heat of day, the cooling grass beneath their feet. All of which are locked behind another glass window and blinking, black bands.

* * *

The next morning, he strides into the common floor, declaring,

“I want to take them outside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm infinitely grateful for every kudos, bookmark, and comment <3333 
> 
> Next chapter: Tony contemplates buying steel cable child harnesses, Peter has nightmares, and the spiderkids get to go somewhere new!


	16. to taste a roach, to hear a cricket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tony,” Bruce chides. “The most expensive, rarest metal on the planet and you use it to make toddler leashes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quarantine's giving me a lot of excuses to work on this! I hope you enjoy the beginnings of fluff, or Tony still trying to get the boys to like him feat. remote controlled cars and outdoor excursions. calm before the storm :))

“I want to take them outside.”

Sitting on the common floor’s couch in leggings and a t-shirt, Bobbi stops typing and looks up from her laptop. On the opposite end of the couch, Steve looks up from his book.

“What?” she asks.

Tony pours himself a coffee. “I want to take them outside. Y’know, let them climb a tree, eat some dirt, whatever. I don’t think they’ve ever felt grass before.”

“Didn’t I tell you yesterday that I’m here to stop you from doing things like this? No, it’s out of the question. They’ll bolt and then it’ll be annoying tracking them down.”

“They’re not going to…” Tony hesitates. “Okay, maybe they would. What if I make some leashes?”

Bobbi makes a face. “Weird and no. You and Bruce were doing good yesterday, can’t you have a few more weeks of that before we jump to just setting them loose?”

Steve closes his book in his lap. “I think it’s a good idea,” the super-soldier offers. “Every time I’ve gone out for a run they’ve always been up against that window. Letting them get a bit of fresh air might do some good.”

Bobbi starts to type again. “Love the sentiment, but it’s still a hard no from me.”

“What if we start small?” Tony bargains, “Take them to the gym or something?”

Bobbi debates it for a bit, before conceding. “After a few more good days, sure. Whatever. They can go to the gym, and _only_ the gym. I swear to god, if I see three brats sprinting across the lawn I’m making only you chase them down.”

A little while later, Morse leaves to greet the small SHIELD blackjet that hums from the landing pad, leaving Tony and Steve on the common floor. Tony watches nervously out the window as Morse greets Maria Hill, and a few SHIELD agents start unloading stuff from the jet.

“I’m glad you’re doing this for the kids, Tony,” Steve says. “I really am. I heard whispers of SHIELD catching the kids, but never followed up on it. I sort of wish I did now. I just worry… When Mrs. Potts and your daughter come back, you won’t leave the boys hanging, will you?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying, they need a lot of hands-on care, and -- “

“You think that I’d just -- just forget them?”

“No, not at all! It’s just…you’re pretty impulsive, Tony. You’ve barred the rest of us from interacting with the boys, aside from Banner of course, I just don’t want you to start going to the top floor to only drop off food and nothing else.”

“I’d never do that,” Tony retorts. “The goal here is to get them tame, happy, and adoptable. I’m not going to just stop working towards that.”

“I know,” Steve nods, “I’m just… Nevermind, forget I said anything.” After a tense pause, he adds, “You’re a good man, Tony.”

“Thanks, I’m well aware.”

The rolling of luggage bags signals the arrival of Happy, the head of security weighed down by heavy tote bags on each shoulder. He’s flanked by Morse, who's carrying a few bags herself, but also has a glass box hooked carefully under one arm.

“Stark!” Morse calls as she and Happy head towards the elevators, “Here’s a fourth kid for you.”

Puzzled, he startles as she forces the glass box into his hands, making him fumble his coffee. “What? What is this?” It looks like a box full of the kid’s webbing.

“A perfectly normal pink-toe tarantula.” She answers all too casually, and he almost drops the glass cage in shock. “Found in the lab in one of the head doctor’s offices. Just cleared an inspection for genetic tampering and no one wants it, so…”

“Hell no, I’m _not_ keeping a pet tarantula,” he says, voice pitched. Spider _kids_ he can handle, an actual spider is where he draws the line! “Take it back! Happy!”

Morse is already gone, and Happy gives him a shrug as he hurries after her with her luggage.

“Steve?” He offers the glass box to the super-soldier.

Steve gives him a sympathetic smile. “Uh...no thanks. Sorry. Try Banner, maybe?”

Banner, thankfully, takes the tarantula off his hands. Turns out it’ll be useful as a comparison when he starts testing the samples of the kids’ webbing.

In the meantime, they focus on having a few more good days. The boys eat most of their meals behind a closed bedroom door or at the window, and Tony continues to bring blueprints or small gauntlets and such with him -- all unpainted and unrecognizable to them as the Iron Man LMD, of course. Though, the kids ignore him enough that he thinks he could bring up a whole Iron Armor and not hear an ounce of protest.

Bruce has better luck with the kids as always. He manages to convince Ben to let him have a look at his teeth and get Kaine to provide a venom sample in exchange for more puzzle toys. The kids are _smart_ , crazy smart. Like with the Rubik’s cubes, the kids demolish any brain teasers and problem sheets laid in front of them. 

They’re well-versed in all forms of math, chemistry, and biology, and have a normal grasp on the basics of history and English. Sickeningly, when quizzed on organ locations they used their own bodies as the example, using faded scarring as a guide. That horrible detail aside, Tony guesses that if they were able to be placed in school right now, they’d do more than excel. They seem to like the puzzles and problems, too. It probably gives them something other than their current predicament to focus on.

The kids are also strong, maybe stronger than they realize, and they like to break things. They’re rough with their new toys, ripping the Rubik's cubes apart when they’re bored with them. They often worry at the silverware Tony brings with meals, bending the metal in their grips as if they don’t realize it’s metal at all.

This also means they’re rough with each other. Recently, when he was alone with them on the floor, a brief scuffle between Ben and Peter by the window led to the glass being kicked, and the blow reverberated and shook the walls. Happy called him immediately afterwards to ask if a bomb went off somewhere.

The Claude Monet puzzle remains unfinished, untouched from its place in the middle of the room. 

* * *

Peter has had the same nightmare every night for a while now.

He’s always back home, in the room, _alone_ , peeking out of a hidebox and staring down at the red-and-gold mech.

Most of the time it bursts through the glass with a sharp pulse of light to only immediately unleash a second beam that tears through his body with a hot cascade of agony. Other times it simply wanders around the room, hunting for him. It's booming, metal steps always getting closer and closer…

Sometimes it doesn’t even break the glass at all. It just _stands_ there on the other side of the window, blankly staring ahead into the room. He helplessly stares back, frozen like a frightened prey animal, afraid that the slightest movement will jolt the mech into attacking.

It's this version of the nightmare that startles him awake to his face half-buried in a pillow and fingers poking his cheek.

“You were twitching really bad again,” Kaine murmurs. “Same dream?”

Peter props himself on one elbow and smushes his face into his brother’s side, chasing away the rest of the lingering adrenaline. “Yeah,” he mumbles into the warmth. 

He lifts his face from his brother’s shirt to see Kaine’s still lookout, hands worrying at a strand in the new web-hammock. “You should go to sleep, Kaine, I can take next shift.”

“No, I traded off with Ben only an hour ago. You go back to sleep.”

Peter cranes his head to look on the other side of Kaine. Ben’s sprawled on his back, an arm and leg slung over the side of the hammock, snoring like a freight train. He’s definitely been asleep for longer than an hour. 

Peter huffs, propping himself up further without shaking the web too much. “You’ve been up too long already. You’re _always_ on lookout. Let me take watch.”

Kaine narrows his eyes at him, and Peter quietly whines, “Kaaaaine.” He tries to push his brother over. “Ackk --” Kaine suddenly presses a hand to Peter’s cheek and squishes him lightly back down into the bundled covers. 

“Peteeee,” he mockingly whines back. “ _You_ sleep, I’ve got this. Don’t worry about me.”

Peter begrudgingly lets Kaine hold his face against the pillows, they’re too soft and fluffy not to. He nuzzles deeper into the pillow once Kaine withdraws his hand. “Wake me in an hour and we’ll switch?”

“Sure,” Kaine says, tussling his hair with a smile, but Peter knows he won’t. 

Morning comes too quick. He’s woken by Karen’s soft voice warning them of Stark’s imminent arrival. Kaine leaves the web-hammock first, clamboring awkwardly over Peter to retrieve breakfast from the man and shut the door. Kaine has dark circles under his eyes, a fact that even Stark makes a comment on, and Peter and Ben look on worriedly as the eldest jerks awake every now and then as he struggles to keep his eyes open while watching morning TV.

Bruce comes back about mid-day, exchanging words with Stark before asking to step over the webline. Kaine, startled wide awake at the sudden arrival, allows his entry into their space.

“Hey kids, I brought new pages today!” He waves a few papers as he nears the couch. “I thought we’d try some calculus? Since you did so well with the matrix algebra yesterday?” 

Peter happily does the homework beside his brothers, and afterwards Bruce has them do a few experiments with their adhesiveness. 

“Okay, sticky on.” Bruce instructs. Ben’s palm is pressed to a flat device in the adult mutant’s open hand. “Sticky off. On. Off. On. Off.”

Bruce smiles, starry eyed at the data he’s gathering. He scribbles a few notes on a notepad. Laying on the couch, Ben flips over on his back, legs splayed over the back cushions, watching him work. 

“You’re a lot like the Doctors,” Ben says.

Bruce freezes, reacting to the words as though he’d been struck. “I -- I’m sorry, should I stop?”

Ben cocks his head to the side. “No…? It’s okay. You just remind me of them, is all. Are you a Doctor?”

The adult mutant doesn’t seem soothed by this, and he folds his notepad away. “I...I am a doctor,” he confirms, “But not like the ones who raised you. I’m never going to do anything that you’re not comfortable with.”

“Oh... Okay?”

Bruce searches the spiders’ faces for a minute, concern dripping from his features before he takes a deep breath. “Hey, speaking of the Doctors, Tony gave me something a few days ago, I was hoping you may recognize it.” The green giant takes out a device -- a phone, they’ve learned -- and holds out a picture of a tarantula crawling across an oversized green hand.

Ben flips over, leaning closer to get a better look. “That’s Gwen!”

Peter and Kaine perk up, crowding around the phone to see. It definitely is Gwen.

“Gwendolyne is Dr. Warren’s pet spider,” Ben explains, before his face turns thoughtful. “He likes her a lot, dunno why she was left behind.”

Peter remembers them sitting in Warren’s office for a reason he can’t recall, watching the Doctor pinch a fat roach with tweezers and drop it into Gwen’s cage. He remembers hearing the light crunch of exoskeleton when Gwen’s fangs skewered it and listening, jealous, as Warren praised the spider in a way they wished he did them. 

He recalls Doctor Warren pinching another fat roach and dangling the insect in front of their faces next, offering it to them with one of his rare, wolfish smiles. He can still feel the roach’s legs wriggling frantically in front of his nose, close enough to tickle. Warren laughed at his own joke, putting away the roach when they don’t react.

Peter obediently smiled along, but to him the joke landed more like a punch in the gut.

“Abandoned as well?” Stark sarcastically adds from the hallway, “Oh, the irony is not lost on me.”

Bruce sighs tiredly, “Tony…”

Peter sours, but the jab doesn’t sting as much as it used to. He merely scoots away to lean against the couch, tearing bits off of a broken Rubik’s cube. If Bruce notices him sailing a few of the colorful squares over the back of the couch at Stark, he doesn’t say anything.

It’s well into dinnertime when Stark suddenly gets up and disappears into the elevator. After a few minutes Bruce’s phone buzzes, and after glancing at it the giant speaks up softly, “Who wants to go stretch their legs? Tony’s been itching to let you guys run around in the gym for the past few days, would you like to do that?”

“He has?” Peter incredulously asks. 

Bruce nods. “Would you like to go there for a while? He just finished setting the place up for you guys.” 

Peter’s not sure, but then again, it’s not really his decision to make anymore.

Kaine mulls it over from his place on the far end of the couch, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye. “...Okay.”

* * *

It takes a little coaxing to get them all in the elevator. It’s a tight, uncomfortable fit, and Peter finds himself squishing as far as he can into the corner just to keep distance from the adult mutant who’s now so, so close to him. 

Once the nightmare of a ride ends, Bruce herds them out into a hallway. His arms are extended out on either side of them like a mother goose protecting goslings, ready to scoop them up as if he thinks the spiders will suddenly scatter -- which, if this was a week ago, they very well might’ve. But now Kaine’s in charge, and if he thinks going to the gym is okay, Peter will follow his lead.

They’re led to a doorway guarded by a fidgeting Stark, who lights up when he sees the spiders. He and Bruce quickly usher them inside and...oh, wow.

“You like it?” Stark beams. 

It’s like a newer, larger version of the training room back home, with even more stuff. There are the basics: gym mats, ropes, a climbing wall, hurdles and balance bars, all brand new and not torn to pieces. There’s a boxing ring tucked in the corner near a weight set and a few trampolines, and against a far wall, a cart with a veggie platter, sandwiches, and a few water bottles sits invitingly. Piles of colorful balloons line the perimeter of the room.

Amused, Bruce kicks at a balloon, sending it tumbling away. “This looks like you’re preparing for a middle school dance.”

“Yeah, well, I wanted to pull out all the stops. Look at what I also bought,” Tony gestures to a pile of boxes and black cord by the door. “Gifts! And if this goes well…?”

The spiders are busy drifting across the room, mesmerized, and so don’t hear much of the conversation going on behind them.

“Tony,” Bruce chides. “The most expensive, rarest metal on the planet and you use it to make toddler leashes?”

“It’s mostly titanium cord! Only a few strands are vibranium.”

Peter crouches down to bat at a balloon. It’s squishy and makes a weird, latex noise in his hands, and smells sort of like doctor gloves -- 

_POP!_

“Oh, shit! I probably should have warned you,” Stark apologizes, “Balloons are loud.”

_No shit,_ Peter scowls.

For a while it’s just them standing around, unsure. It all feels familiar, the squish of the mat underneath his feet, the burn of a rope in his palm, he’s not sure what to do with himself. Then Bruce, sitting down by the door while Stark assembles stuff from the cardboard boxes, asks them to show him some tricks. It’s just the thing that entices them into action, it’s so easy to imagine that it’s really the Doctor ordering to see what they can do.

Ben starts by flipping and handstanding across the balance beam, showing off their enhanced equilibrium. Then their routines gradually get more complicated; flipping and springing off of the climbing walls, leaping onto the exposed beams in the ceiling, or swinging on ropes. Peter finds it easy to lose himself in the workout, and soon they’re chasing each other across the walls and wrestling on the mats, Stark and Bruce entirely forgotten.

At some point, Peter finds out that if you rub balloons into hair or fabric, they stick. This sparks a war, and by the end of it, Kaine’s popped most of the offending things out of frustration after Peter and Ben gang up on him.

Kaine has them both in a headlock when something makes a high pitched whirring noise -- like how a mech sounds when it's winding up to hit, or when the skin is peeled away and you can clearly hear the innards inside working overtime -- speeding up and approaching them. On instinct, they break away and Ben webs the offending robot --

Oh, it’s not a robot. The toy car is glued to the floor, wheels spinning uselessly. 

“Hey...” Stark frowns, holding a remote control. “How’s that any way to treat a gift?”

Stark’s assembled a small army of RC cars and other gadgets in front of him. Peter finds himself drawn to a little red-and-blue hotrod, and Stark scolds him for trying to pry the chassis off of it to look at the mechanics beneath, thinking he’s trying to break it. He just might, if Stark sends it buzzing at him again.

Undeterred, the man starts up a remote control helicopter, trying to convince them to play. They startle when it suddenly takes off into the air, it’s movements so much like a drone. Stark flies it around their heads before he lets it peel off across the room while explaining how to work the controls. But they’re not listening, really. They know what to do already. They all idly follow it with their eyes as it zig-zags around the gym, but Ben is the first to move.

The youngest leaps up, catching and crushing the helicopter in one fist. Stark is flabbergasted when Ben brings it back to him, dropping the thing at his feet before hurrying to huddle with his brothers again.

“Did...Did you not like it?” Stark asks.

Ben tilts his head, wiping battery acid on his jeans. “I caught it. I played.” 

“That’s... not how you’re supposed to play with these. When we find you a home, you can’t just go around breaking things there.”

There he goes again. Peter flops on his back with an annoyed huff. _Adoption._ He just doesn’t get it, does he! To distract himself, he tugs on the back of Kaine’s shirt, pulling him down to the floor too and slinging a leg around his chest. Stark doesn’t protest when they go back to wrestling on the mats again.

They run around and explore for hours until they’re tired and hungry enough to descend on the veggie platter. Ben lays back on the mat, lazily kicking a soccer ball around after Stark brought out a few more items from a side closet. Carrots sticking out of his mouth, Peter inspects a hula hoop, still not sure how to use it even after a very embarrassing showcase by Stark. The man whines from across the room when Peter starts to bend it in half.

Kaine begins to nod off against the dining cart, and this apparently stokes Stark into action.

“Are we tuckered out enough? Ready to head back upstairs?”

Peter and Ben look to Kaine again, and said brother readily nods, eyelids drooping dramatically. Peter’s feeling exhausted himself, it’s been a while since he’s had the space to properly exercise.

“I want to make one last stop, though, if you’re interested?” Stark grunts as he lifts up the black cords in his arms, trudging over to them and stopping a respectable distance away when Kaine gives a warning growl. “Would you like to go outside?”

Peter’s eyes blow wide. Outside? _Outside?_ He glances at his brothers, who seem just as surprised as he is. 

“What’s the catch,” Kaine murmurs, standing up. 

Stark holds up one of the black things. It’s like a small, sleeveless jacket attached to a rope. “You gotta wear these fashionable things.”

The man tosses the things closer to them, and hesitantly, they put the things on. It hugs tight around Peter's upper chest, clasping at the back right above where the heavy cord’s attached. Clearly some sort of harness, but seems easy enough to break out of.

"Oh-kay, now I'm just gonna..." Stark carefully approaches them to properly clasp the things, and as the fabric's tugged snugly into place, Peter clicks at Kaine.

_Click, click-click._ Escape.

Kaine furrows his brows, unsure, as Stark tugs his jacket into place as well. 

Bruce is apologetic as he holds their harnesses, clearly put-off by the situation. Peter can relate, this feels a little degrading, but he doesn’t necessarily blame them for being cautious. 

They’re lead around a bend in the hallway into a wider, lobby-like space. The windows stretch up way further than the ones in their room, and outside the glass there’s a sleek, modern patio area and beyond that, a sea of green. 

Ben looks questioningly to Kaine. _Click, click-click._

Kaine’s looking straight ahead into the field. He shakes his head without looking at them.

Peter’s heart drops with his gaze. He knows what his brother’s thinking, because he's thinking it too. Where could they even go? They’re stuck here.

“What’s with all the weird noises? Use your words,” Stark babbles. “C’mon, we’ve only got… maybe twenty minutes before she realizes what I’m doing.”

Bruce nervously curls his hand around the cords once, twice as they cross the threshold onto the patio. The harnesses have about ten feet of cord each, letting them go right to the edge where smooth concrete meets grass.

Peter wiggles his toes in the grass. It’s cool and soft, sort of like carpet. The field before them slopes down at a shallow angle, and the late afternoon air is crisp and chilly, overcast. Peter shivers a bit, only partly due to anticipation.

“Have you ever felt grass before?” Stark asks, stepping out onto the patio with them. When he gets a resounding shake of heads he continues, “Feels good doesn’t it?”

“...Mm-hmm,” Kaine responds, crouched down to feel the blades in his hands.

Ben pulls on his harness, trying to get further out into the lawn, and Bruce stumbles forward. “Uh, Tony?!”

Peter, suddenly feeling mischievous once he sees Stark seem to rethink this decision, pulls hard on the harness too. Bruce is yanked out into the lawn with a nervous shout, and Ben promptly sits down in the grass. Kaine strains to yank a really pretty clump of flowers out of a nearby garden, and Peter uses his flexibility to mess with the clasp at the back of the harness. It’d be really funny to see Stark’s face if he managed to get out of it.

“Uh, hey kids, let’s stick close to the building, okay?” Stark calls. 

Ben pauses in his task of tearing out grass to point at the forest edge at the far end of the property. “Tree? Please?”

Stark looks heartbroken. “Er, okay. Sure. Yeah, go see a tree. Then come right back.”

“Tony, I don’t think I can hold all three -- “ Bruce’s argument is cut off by an undignified squawk as he’s promptly jerked along after the brothers.

* * *

Tony watches on from the patio, somewhere between amused and concerned, as Bruce struggles to contain the kids. They’d calculated beforehand that Bruce is definitely strong enough to wrangle all three, but right now it looks like the kids are doing all the wrangling. 

After nearly getting pulled off his feet, Bruce is parked at the base of a small tree on the edge of the property. Ben and Peter have disappeared in the branches, only the jerky movements of the harness cords advertising where they are. Kaine is happily laying in a patch of tall grass nearby, pilfered flowers clutched close in one hand. The sun is close to setting, but he doubts the kids have noticed yet. 

He inwardly preens. This was such a good idea. Maybe he should take a picture to show Pepper! He snaps a quick photo of Bruce being dragged across the lawn to another flowerbed. The green giant is trying to urge them back towards the building to no avail. 

Eventually Bruce manages to corral three sweaty, grass-stained teenagers towards the Compound. They get to the edge of the patio, but Tony, realizing the time, hurries to stop them. 

“Hey, look,” he quickly says, “I want you to see this.”

A sunset, a real sunset. Unfiltered by glass or a canvas. The kids stop and stare, transfixed, as the day melts away. The teens are absorbed in the scenery, thoughtfully examining every detail as if it’ll disappear right before their eyes. Sitting down, they idly run their hands through the grass, smell the clumps of flowers crushed in their hand, watch the clouds move above. 

One of them asks, “What’s that noise?” 

“Crickets,” Tony answers. “And a few songbirds.”

After a meditative pause punctuated only by the wind and insects in the grass, Kaine starts to sniffle. It’s quiet, like a kitten’s, and wouldn’t have been noticeable if his brothers didn’t immediately react to him curling in on himself.

Bruce panics, “Are you alright?”

Kaine sniffs, rubbing the hand not holding onto daisies into his eye. The boy smiles, but it’s broken. Pained. “I don’t know…” The other two boys look on with concern as Kaine reigns himself in.

“C’mon, let’s head back. You guys had a big day, I think we’re all tired, right?” Tony asks. Bruce tugs on the harnesses, but the kids have glued themselves to the patio, reluctant to go back inside. 

At first take, he’d imagine they were thinking about running away, but if they wanted to do that, they would have dragged Bruce into the forest by now. No, this is something different. They're looking back at the field and the darkening sky with forlorn expressions.

“We’ll do this again another time, don’t worry,” Bruce says. That seems to do the trick, and the kids willingly step back inside the Compound.

They take off the harnesses before stepping into the elevator, Bruce splitting off with a hushed goodnight to who knows where. The kids are practically dead on their feet, only reciprocating with a muted wave.

He drops them off at their floor, happy to see that their cleaned bedsheets have been delivered already, fresh from the dryer. The kids gravitate to the still-warm sheets, piling the fabric on their side of the webline in the bedroom. They’re apparently too exhausted to make the journey of lugging every single heavy duvet up to the web-hammock, and simply arrange the blankets into a fluffy nest on the floor. 

When he returns with RC cars piled high in his arms, all three spiderkids are dead asleep, not even posting a lookout. Their purloined flowers are littered around their bodies on the blanket nest and floor like some haunting facsimile of a funeral, or maybe a celebration. They remind him of three baby birds, all tucked up against one another, arms and legs tangled and cheeks pressed to hearts and shoulders, all breathing softly into each other’s space. 

He quickly texts a picture to Pepper, who responds almost immediately with a heart emoji and a question.

_‘Why do they look so sad?’_

Despite being so peaceful, all three have a wrinkle in their foreheads, or a twitch in their limbs. It’s the expressions he’s seen so often on Karen’s video feed, but only up close can you truly see the worry creasing their young features. In a bold move spurred on by something like parental instinct, he tip-toes over the webline to gently replace Ben’s arm, which had slipped off the nest and weakly grasping at nothing on the cold floor, to lay across the kid’s belly. With a hum and a twitch, Ben’s fingers immediately curl, and the hand finds its way across his chest and onto Kaine’s, lightly grasping at his sibling’s shirt. The eldest has a dried tear track down his cheek, and Peter nuzzles lightly into Kaine’s side, frowning. He knows troubled sleep when he sees it.

_‘Just upset about not being able to play longer, that’s all.”_

Before he can let himself get caught up in the lie of that statement, he quickly adds;

_‘You ever think about giving Mo a little sibling?’_

He can almost hear her scoff from across the state. Pepper only sends him an eyeroll emoji in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: more progress, kids maybe meet bobbi (?), and possibly the long-overdue return of a deadpool pov featuring his scaly new cellmate. hehe.
> 
> Thanks for all the continued support! I'm sorry Im so awk at answering comments, honestly I stare at every one of them and smile like an idiot until I work up the courage to reply, haha... (i love u all)
> 
> stay healthy!! remember to stay at home if at all possible!


	17. the lull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More bits and pieces of the spiderkid's life as they continue to adjust to the Compound. Water guns, bird catching, and an important conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I'm actually writing a few chapters ahead because I wanted to make sure I wrote something right, lol.
> 
> (I'm sooo sick of quarantine! I'm over it! Never in my whole life have I ever wanted to go and wander around Target so bad!! AAAA)

Peter wakes up first.

His nose is smashed painfully in Kaine’s smelly, disgusting armpit, and he rears back to snap at his older brother for waking him up in such a disgusting way --

Oh, Kaine’s asleep. He’s not lookout, no one is. Peter sits bolt upright in the blanket nest. There should’ve been a lookout! They were sleeping on the ground! Stark could have snuck in and...

Oh. The events of yesterday come flooding back to Peter. Stark...let them go outside. He gave them an opportunity to exercise and get a taste of something Peter didn’t think he’d experience until he was an adult. Or maybe never, Warren once said they shouldn’t take staying inside for the rest of their lives off the table. It wasn’t really something he thought about before.

He plucks a daisy from his hair that found its way there while he slept. It smells fresh, sweet, contrasting with the strange bitter knot forming in his stomach.

Ben whines from across the blanket nest. He’s twitching in his sleep, lip curled in a silent snarl. Peter reaches over to shake his brother, but Ben jolts awake, seizing Peter’s wrist in a deathgrip.

Ben drops him immediately, his eyes wide and panicked. “You’re okay. Is Kaine okay?” The youngest roughly shakes Kaine, the eldest growling in irritation at the rude awakening.

“Nightmare?” Peter asks.

Ben calms when Kaine's eyes flutter open, his shoulders sagging in relief. He nods. “Metal man,” he simply says.

Kaine groans, pressing his palms to his face. “Metal man,” he echoes. “Karen, who is the metal man?”

_“I’m sorry, as I answered before, that’s a question best for Mr. Stark. I can attest, however, that Iron Man doesn’t pose any threat to you.”_

“‘Iron Man’. That’s new,” Kaine mumbles, running a hand through his long hair. It’s getting longer than the Doctors usually liked to keep it, if they bothered cutting his in the first place. 

Karen sounds happy as she continues, echoing softly around the floor in the creeping light of morning. _“Mr. Stark has allowed me to give you that information. Would you like me to inform him that you have further questions?”_

Kaine mulls it over. “Mmm, no, we’ll ask him ourselves.”

Peter settles back into the blankets. He sniffs the daisy again.

They pass the time by staring out the window, pointing out all the trees they think look fun to climb or dots of color in the grass they want to pick. The golden-haired man, Steve, comes back outside for a run. Every lap he gives them a wave, but Ben’s the only one who waves back.

Ben pouts. “Why can’t we meet him too? He’s a mutant.”

The eldest observes the man running on the asphalt track below. “He seems familiar,” he explains. Ben perks up, but before the youngest can say anything Kaine adds, “The bad kind of familiar. I can’t explain it.”

Ben slumps disappointed. When Steve rounds another lap, the youngest sticks to the window and climbs up a little to wave. Steve slows to a stop, fascinated, and waves back in earnest with both arms. 

“I dunno, I think he’s fine. I bet I can beat him good in a fight.”

Steve’s attention is pulled away when a new person strides across the yard. He’s shorter than Steve, decked out in a black tank top and has a bow slung across his shoulder. Steve greets the new guy, and after a short chat, points to them.

Shielding his eyes from the morning sun, the new guy peers up. The quiver full of arrows gripped tightly in his other hand glints in the sunlight.

Ben abruptly drops from the window, and they all slink back towards the safety of the couch.

The next few days follow a loose pattern. Most of the time they’re cooped up on the top floor all day with only Tony or even rarer, Bruce, for company, rotating between playing with puzzle toys, eating, and watching boring daytime talk shows. When Stark isn’t trying to make small-talk he tries to get them to play with the RC cars, but the noises they make sorta stress Peter out. The toys sound too much like mechs. 

When all else fails, Stark tinkers with things by himself in the hallway. Robot arms and other mechanical parts are spread around the floor at the man’s feet, always fixing away at something. And when Peter’s _really_ bored, he quietly creeps across the ceiling to watch him work from afar. Stark screamed the first time he noticed him watching, before quickly offering if he wanted to come closer to see better. Peter only gave him a petulant hiss and creeped back out of sight.

Surprisingly, going to the gym wasn’t a one-off thing. Stark takes them down every other day or so, sometimes adding new stuff he thinks they’d like to the space for them to investigate. Today, punching bags (that are almost immediately destroyed) are among the latest additions, as well as plastic guns.

They're sitting in the sandy remains of a punching bag when Stark dumps the weapons onto the gym floor. On instant alert, Kaine clicks a steady rhythm to call his brothers to group up. Stark, unaware of their sudden attentiveness, lifts the barrel of a brightly colored rifle to Bruce’s temple with a devilish grin. Bruce’s engrossed in a novel beside the man, blind to the danger. Peter’s Sense is quiet but guns are guns -- that’s just a fact!

Ben shrieks, _“Bruce!”_ A web tears the gun out of Stark’s hands, and it’s a blur of movement as the spiders charge forward. 

Bruce panics, his book flung across the room as he quickly steps between the spiders and the man now cradling his sprained fingers. They all skid to a stop in front of him. Ben takes a hesitant half-step forward, worry filled eyes laser-focused on Stark hidden behind Bruce’s outstretched arms. Stark pats Bruce’s elbow in thanks. Ben hisses.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Bruce soothes, “None of that now, okay? It’s just a water gun, Tony was just playing.”

“My fault, my fault,” Stark apologizes. He flexes his digits experimentally, sending a quick glance to the camera in the gym's corner before hiding the injury behind his back. The man sniffs, aloof attitude returning. “I should have realized toy guns were a bad idea. It’s no problem.”

Bruce squirts a water gun at Stark. “Harmless, see?” Bruce pushes the water gun into Ben’s hands, and after a thorough inspection, the youngest spider takes a few potshots at the man, soaking the front of his blazer. Ben slides a few toy guns to Peter and Kaine too, and they all take turns dousing him. Peter grins when he sees that man now looks more like a drowned cat than a weirdo rich guy.

Stark sputters, “C’mon, I said I was sorry!”

Once gymtime is over, Peter’s even more surprised that Bruce kept his word; Stark is allowing them outside again! They still have to wear the harnesses, but Peter’s so overwhelmed he barely forgets to react to Stark patting him on the shoulder after fastening his vest. 

It’s incredibly easy to pull Bruce across the lawn. It makes the experience more enjoyable, actually. A constant reminder of how strong they still are and how they’ll still be fighting fit when the Doctors find them. 

Stark really doesn’t want them pulling flowers from the gardens close to the building or around the trees by the road. They’re an important part of the ‘very expensive landscaping’, he says, whatever that means. Bruce actually puts a little elbow grease into pulling them away from a tulip bed, so apparently Stark means business. 

He does, however, let them pick the little white clovers and yellow dandelions at the far, untrimmed edge of the lawn. Stark even relinquishes ownership of his coffee cup to store them in so they can use both hands to yank out the delicate plants. 

Ben draws their attention to a group of figures standing at one of the Compound’s windows. Among them is Steve, he thinks, surrounded by at least five other people. So many strangers in the building Peter and his brothers have been living and sleeping in for the past month, so many unknown threats... A few of the strangers wave when they see them stop flower-picking to stare. Bruce encourages them to wave back, and hesitantly, they do. 

When they’re eventually herded back towards the Compound, Peter spots a very odd looking flower in the grass. It’s hard and plasticy -- weird, but Warren had a dusty plastic plant in his office, and so he gives it a good pull, aiming to add it to the cup.

The sprinkler head is wrenched from the ground and promptly sprays a geyser of cold water up Peter’s nose. Peter screams. 

Stark cackles madly at his terror, “How does it feel when the shoe’s on the other foot, kiddo?”

Sopping wet, Peter only sneers and shivers in return. 

* * *

They're let outside again a few days later, and the spiders’ attentions shift from flowers to animals. Ben found a cricket and a pillbug under a loose branch at the edge of the lawn, keeping both concealed protectively in his palms. Peter hasn’t found anything yet, but he aims to outdo his siblings by a long shot...

When Bruce is distracted and the timing is right, Peter leaps up and snatches a blur out of the air, landing back down in a crouch. 

The bird screeches in his palm, wings beating against his strong fingers. His brothers instantly _ooh_ and _aah_ at his catch, crowding around him to poke at the creature. Feeling it’s little heart beating wildly against his fingertips, Peter takes great care to be gentle as he turns the bird over and around. It has a red belly and a black head, and a white ring around its eyes. It’s yellow beak is open, panting in fear, and its thin legs scratch at Peter’s grip. 

Ben pokes it in the beak, yelping as the bird nips him and starts shrieking again, louder this time.

“Ah, Tony!” Bruce calls, voice pitched. “They caught a robin!” 

And suddenly Bruce is jerking at Peter’s harness and Stark’s sprinting across the lawn, making a frantic bee-line for him. Peter clutches the bird close to his chest, frightened. What’s happening?

Bruce tugs again, worry evident in his voice. “Peter, let it go!”

Kaine growls protectively as Stark stops a few feet away, the man’s arms up in a placating gesture. “Peter, kid, don’t hurt the bird.”

Wings beat panicked against his chest in time to his own heartbeat. He’s not hurting it, is he? He’s being gentle! 

“Peter,” Stark pleads. He sounds scared. “Please, put it down.”

“I’m being gentle!” He protests. “I don’t want to put it down.”

The bird’s cries increase in pitch, and this seems to make Stark think he's lying.

“Kid, put the bird down, _now._ ”

“No! It’s pretty!”

Stark takes a few steps closer, and all defiance goes sailing out the window. Wide-eyed, Peter shrinks back, curling in on himself and quickly lets the bird go. It flies off, perfectly healthy and unharmed.

Stark stares at where the animal disappeared for a few moments. Shoulders slumping, he nods, “Okay, bird seems fine. Good. Good job, Peter. Uh, _shit_ , sorry for scaring you. You didn’t think I was going to hit you, did you?”

Peter realizes his submissive posture. He’s half-curled around himself, his brothers bracketed on either side of him. Did he think Stark was going to hit him? No, he thinks, Stark said he wouldn’t hurt them, and his Sense didn’t go off. So why did he react this way? Warren didn’t hit them often, and only did so with good reason -- like when they were being uncooperative. Too slow when finishing a mech off, moving around too much when they had to be still, or not producing a particular result he wanted were common ways to get a quick one or two open-handed smacks. 

Peter shakes his head no, but Stark’s expression clouds over with something anyways.

As an apology, Stark lets Peter spray him with the garden hose, which picks up Peter’s mood significantly again. If he strains his enhanced hearing, he thinks he can hear a chorus of laughter from one of the Compound’s windows.

* * *

It's easier to talk with Bruce rather than Stark. He would even say it's a lot like talking to Doctor Connors, much to Bruce's dismay at being compared to their missing caregiver. It's also easier because Ben has really warmed up to the adult mutant, and it's harder to hate someone when your little brother looks forward to their every visit.

Peter also thinks he's starting to enjoy his company. Which is a strange feeling, because for most of their lives they've done just fine with entertaining themselves. Maybe he can suggest that Bruce and Doctor Connors share notes sometimes when they return? 

On his belly, Peter pushes the Claude Monet puzzle pieces around on the floor in front of him, idly listening to Ben quietly answer Bruce's questions about Warren's experiments. Other, completed puzzles sit around him, some depicting idyllic cottages or fluffy cats, it's only this one that goes unfinished. 

“For a while Warren was really interested in adrenal glands, at least for me and Peter.” Ben lifts up his shirt, pointing to a faded pink line on his abdomen. “Those were always so sore afterwards.”

Bruce’s face twists from where he's seated on the couch. “Were you awake for that?”

The youngest makes a horrified face. “No! We were always asleep when being tested. Warren’s not cruel like that.” 

Stark says something sarcastic and biting under his breath from his hallway spot. Bruce reaches out a hand, and Ben slightly startles before the adult mutant asks, “Can I see it?”

“Uhm... Uhh…” Shyly, Ben lifts up his shirt in silent permission.

Peter and Kaine both tense as Bruce runs a delicate touch over Ben’s stomach. The youngest’s muscles flicker in response, ticklish, and his breathing picks up. Bruce settles over a long, jagged scar that runs along Ben’s ribcage. “What happened here?”

“Uh... a mech… the red-and-blue one? He threw his disk at me when I wasn’t paying attention.” 

Peter remembers that fight, he remembers Ben gasping on the floor like a dying fish and how much scolding he got from Warren afterwards. They were all separated into their single rooms that day as punishment, just to remind them that if they’re not strong enough to protect each other they will end up alone. 

“That must’ve hurt,” Bruce rumbles. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I’ve been on the business end of Captain America’s shield a few times myself. He’s actually a nice person, you know. The real Cap would never hurt a hair on your blond head, just like Iron Man. Right, Tony?”

A huffed _of course_ floats from the hallway, and Bruce smiles. Bruce taps the scar once and withdraws his hand, not missing the way Ben sighs in relief once it’s gone. “Sorry.”

“'S okay,” Ben murmurs neutrally. He fiddles with the edge of his t-shirt.

Bruce also reunites them with Gwendolyne. They were never allowed to hold the tarantula before, they rarely went to Warren’s office as it was, so they’re naturally nervous as Bruce pokes Gwen’s butt to move her from his green hand to theirs. What if they accidentally drop her? Will Doctor Warren be angry?

Ben stays unnaturally still as the tarantula slowly inches along his hand. Outside of her hidey-hole, it's obvious that Gwen’s actually a really pretty spider. She’s covered in fuzzy black hairs that have a slight iridescent look to them, and has these cute little pink pads on the tips of her legs. Not as cute an animal as the bird Peter caught a day ago, but cute nonetheless.

Seeing Ben so uncomfortable, Peter grins and mimes like he’s going to poke Gwen’s back legs and make her sprint along the length of his brother’s arm. Ben quietly whines, “Ah, don’t please…”

Stark laughs, “Spiderkids are afraid of spiders?”

“She’s really big!” Ben defends. “At least we don’t look like spiders!”

Bruce agrees, “Very true. If you did, she’d probably eat you. Girl spiders like to snack on boy spiders.”

Ben whimpers, not soothed by this.

* * *

It’s after another restless night of taking turns waking each other up from a nightmare that they finally decide to ask. 

Stark brings a whole box of cereal, a jug of milk, and three oranges for breakfast, letting them do what they want with the food. He’s long since given up on teaching them how to eat cereal ‘correctly’, and merely settles down in the hallway as they start to eat the cereal dry and occasionally take swigs of milk. There’s now an armchair made of pillows propped up against his spot, a testament to how long Stark has put up with only being allowed this uncomfortable stretch of floor. He pauses, noticing how the spiders aren’t eating breakfast behind their bedroom door like usual today, but starts to tap away at a tablet anyways.

Staring Stark down over a mouthful of cereal, Kaine starts, “Who is Iron Man?”

Stark jolts, surprised at the sudden conversation. He blinks at them for a moment, before slowly putting his tablet to the side, abandoning his work. “Er... _Right._ Karen’s told me about that. You’ve been having nightmares about him, right?”

Kaine shrugs in response, perfectly neutral. “He was a mech, then he’s real. Like the red-and-blue man. Then he’s on a T-shirt, and Karen won’t tell us anything more than what you’ve allowed and she cuts off the TV at random times. Just what is he?”

Stark purses his lips from the opposite side of the webline. “He’s a hero. The same as Captain America, er... the ‘red-and-blue’ man. Heroes.”

“He took us from our home,” is Peter’s sharp, immediate reply. Kaine nudges him with his elbow and gives him a warning look. 

“Well, ah, yeah. I guess he did. I like to see it as he freed you, giving you an opportunity to be found and get help.”

Kaine taps his spoon thoughtfully. “Why?”

“Well, heroes… they save people. They go where they’re needed. He probably got a lead that something fishy was going on under that building in New York City and was told to check things out with a few SHIELD buddies of his.” 

“He’s not part of SHIELD then?”

Stark makes a face. “Nooo, he’s...a free spirit. He likes to think he’s his own boss. Iron Man doesn’t appreciate being someone’s lackey.”

The eldest hums, brows furrowing. “Do you know him?”

“Sure, I know him. I know lots of people,” Stark dismisses. “He’s actually...He’s really sorry for scaring and hurting you. He didn’t know you were just kids until the very last second. He’s been real torn up about it, really.”

“Oh…” Kaine mumbles, unsure what to do with that information. “Why us, then? Why the lab? What did the Doctors do so wrong?” 

Peter feels that bitter knot forming again in his stomach, though for an entirely different reason. The Doctors fed them, clothed them, raised them, trained them -- they were fine and they would have been fine for years afterwards. Sure, not in as fancy of a set-up as this, but they’re different! They didn’t need those things, they hadn’t needed outside or a bed or sugary snacks or TV for years and they were okay! They’re still okay! And they’ll be okay long after they’re gone from Stark’s Compound.

Stark’s face falls. “Kid… I’ve been trying to show you, to the absolute best of my ability, what you’ve missed. What you’ve been forcibly deprived of. A life free from experimentation, caging, LMDs, and cold-hearted scientists. Have you really felt no difference between your old life and now?”

“Of course I have,” Kaine snaps. “It’s --” Kaine suddenly chews his lip. His jaw works itself over for a bit, trying to find the words. “I…”

Stark starts to ramble, “I know the bracelets and the way I have you cooped up here on the floor all the time sorta seems like I’m just giving you a swankier version of your glass cage, but I fully intend to let you guys start to become more independent, once you start adjusting and accepting the fact that you aren’t toys to be bought and sold or poked and prodded anymore. I swear it, I just want to help.”

“Yeah, we know. I... It’s…” Kaine tries, but he can’t seem to parse out the words. He finally gives up. “...No more questions.”

After Stark says his temporary goodbye and promises that Iron Man is a kind man, a good man, a hero, Peter curls up against Kaine’s back as the eldest spider stares out the window. Kaine is tense, his shoulder rigid like ice under Peter’s chin, and when Peter hugs him, offering comfort, Kaine grips him twice as tightly.

“You’re thinking really loud,” Peter says into Kaine’s long hair. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he lies. Then hesitates, “It’s just...What do you guys think about this place?”

Peter straightens. That’s what he’s thinking about? Humming, he answers, “I don’t know. What do you think about it?” The Compound is nice, but it’s not a permanent set-up. Stark’s plan is to shove them out to some stranger's care, while their plan is to go with the Doctors. Either way, as interesting things have been here, he shouldn’t get attached.

Kaine doesn't respond. His green eyes follow Steve and his two friends, the metal-armed man and arrow guy, as they jog on the track below. 

Peter bumps his forehead against Kaine’s back. “Hey, it doesn’t matter. The Doctors are going to come back and then nothing will matter.”

Kaine exhales, and his grip on Peter’s arm tightens minutely. “Yeah.”

* * *

As they get ready for bed in the web-hammock that night, Karen pipes up with an unusual offer.

_“Mr. Stark has asked me to inform you I am equipped with over a hundred different types of white noise for the purposes of aiding sleep. Would you like to try one tonight?”_

Peter and Ben look to Kaine. Sitting upright in the nest preparing to take first watch as always, Kaine asks, “White noise?”

Karen happily starts to play sounds of a babbling brook that echoes softly around the bedroom. It...sounds nice, Peter has to admit. There’s even a few songbirds mixed in. 

Ben asks, “Can...Can you do one of machine hums? But really quiet, like they’re far away?” 

Kaine frowns a bit when the sounds fades out, and Karen assembles a new track. The sound of rushing water is overtaken by a low, soothing rumbling. It sounds almost exactly like home, like the hidden machinery in the walls or the wooshing of pipes that their hearing was always able to pick up.

_“Is this acceptable?”_

Ben settles down, pulling the covers over him. “Yes. Thank you.”

_“You’re very welcome. Goodnight, boys.”_

A pat on the shoulder from Kaine gently orders him to settle down as well. Peter asks, “Will you wake me in a few hours to switch?”

Kaine smiles and says sure, but he has that look in his eyes that warns Peter that he’s going to stay up all night, thinking about stuff. Peter seeks out his brother’s hand in the darkness and squeezes down on it.

Peter blinks half-awake many hours later to soft whispering. The rumbling white noise is still going, and he can feel the press of Kaine’s folded knee against his back. He’s still on guard duty. He’s about to get up and pin Kaine down until he agrees to get at least a decent night’s sleep for once, but he’s stopped short. 

“Karen,” Kaine whispers behind him, careful to not wake his brothers. “Can… Can you play the first track again? The one with the birds?”

Equally soft, as soft as a robot can be at least, she says, _“Of course.”_

Face half-sunken in a nest of blankets and a duvet pulled tightly around his shoulders, Peter listens as the rumbling fades out, replaced by gentle chirping of birds and soft movement of a stream.

Kaine lets the sounds wash over the room for a moment before whispering again. “...Can you play both at once?”

The AI does as instructed, and it’s an odd noise. Still soothing, but something about it is disconnected. Disjointed. 

Kaine sighs and the blankets shift. He’s not laying down to sleep, but he’s definitely getting more comfortable. Ben makes a noise on the other side of the web and Peter hears Kaine scratch at his little brother’s head in reassurance.

The tweeting and babbling continues, overlayed with the rumbling. It sounds like the crest of a thunderstorm, its ashen fingertips reaching out to brush at the edge of a still-sunny forest, not quite arrived yet. 

Peter doesn’t get up to switch guard duty. And thankfully, there is no Iron Man in his dreams that night.

Instead, it’s Tony Stark standing outside of the glass, and a rumble in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is already written and just needs to be edited! Will contain a party, bobbi meeting the kids, and another important talk. 
> 
> Thanks so much for the support! I appreciate and love every comment!! Happy spring!


	18. reminders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the kid's official One Month anniversary at the compound. Cake is had, pinatas are punched, new faces are seen, and painful memories are relived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!! Warning for a past instance of child abuse later in this chapter (beating that leads to a death threat)! If you want to skip it, start scrolling when flashback starts (italics). I will post a bare-bones summary of what happened in the end note if this type of subject matter bothers you. 
> 
> I'm sorta iffy about this chapter, but I hope you find it decidedly not-boring to read! And holy cow! 200+ comments, almost 400 kudos, 100+ bookmarks?! You guys are awesome <33

Tony practically skips the whole way from his workshop to the lobby. Happy’s standing at the reception desk, big bundle in his hands. “Happy! Goooood morning!”

Happy rolls his eyes, and Tony excitedly takes the chocolate cake from the head of security’s hands.

Today is the spiderkids’ official One Month Compound-iversary! The cake is sprinkled in confetti candies and colorful icing that spells out ‘P B & K’ with a big heart right smack dab in the middle of it. It’s cute, really. Morgan picked the flavor and frosting so it all looks a bit frilly, but the teens still eat whatever is placed in front of them without argument so he isn’t too worried. They deserve a big treat.

They’ve been doing great so far. They’re still standoffish, but overall they’ve opened up a bit since being allowed to go outside and to the gym on a regular basis. They’re inquisitive, always willing to investigate things, especially around Bruce. Under the layers of anxiety, Tony even thinks he’s starting to parse out personalities. 

Ben’s a little marshmallow. Sweet and timid. The kid’s a tad more energetic than the other two, and trusts Bruce the most out of the three “because he’s a doctor”. Tony gets the feeling he sees Bruce as sort of a surrogate to replace their previous twisted caregivers. He’s a happy follower, always trailing behind a sibling. 

Kaine is protective and thoughtful. He’s the last one to charge headfirst into something new, always taking time to understand it before approaching. He’s on constant alert, not in an overtly anxious way like Peter was his first week here, but in a ‘I’m the oldest and I have to look out for my siblings’ kind of way. It’s sweet. And even though he hasn’t shown definite signs of it yet, Tony’s sure the teen’s an insecure mess under there somewhere. You can’t go your whole life thinking yourself a ‘defect’ and not come out unscathed.

Peter’s more of a mystery. He’s stubborn and the most nervous of the kids, but the most investigative. He, along with Ben, are likely to be the first ones to poke at something new, and consequently, are all the more jumpy for it. Especially Peter. He and Tony have been playing a little game for the past week or so, though. Tony will notice him creeping across the ceiling to watch him work on a unpainted gauntlet, but when Tony turns to look at the teen, Peter pretends he isn’t interested. The kid also has little hints of a mischievous streak poking through, which is adorable.

He and Happy stride into one of the Compounds dining halls. Bobbi and Natasha sit at a table, coffee cups and granola bars stacked into a pile. Bobbi’s on her laptop, and Natasha has the boys’ files fanned out in front of her. Bobbi narrows her eyes at him, still pissed about him taking the kids outside weeks ago without telling her.

“C’mon Hap, you sure you don’t want to meet the kids?” Tony jokes as they reach the opposite end of the table, far away from the working spies.

“Are you kidding?” Happy huffs. “Did you _see_ what you were sending down to me when you and Banner were cleaning that floor? That bookshelf looked like it’d been bombed! And that’s not even mentioning your fancy finger splint. I’d like to keep all my bones intact, thank you very much.”

Tony flexes his splinted finger a bit. Most of his digits were only sprained during the water gun incident, but his middle finger had just the tiniest little itty-bitty fracture. Just another reason for Bobbi to get on his ass. Thankfully, he managed to convince her that since they ripped the plastic gun out of his hands as a way to _protect_ Bruce, they were being _protective_ , not aggressive, and thus deserved another pass.

Happy continues, “I’m not so keen on teenagers anyways. Too annoying. And I can say that because I was a teenager and I was incredibly annoying.”

Clint appears from a side entrance, jogging over to the same walk-in fridge that Tony’s pulling ice cream and milk out of. “Are we talking about the spider-teens? I want to meet them! Also, has anyone seen my stash of energy bars?”

Tony rearranges the items on the table. “Went to the kids three days ago.”

“All of them? Even the apple cinnamon?” Clint looks forlornly into the, admittedly sparse, walk-in. “What about my macaroni salad?”

Not looking up from her work, Natasha answers, “Kids.”

“My cotton candy grapes? My chips?” When Nat confirms that yeah, Tony took those too, Clint makes an offended noise. “Stark, half of my empanadas are gone!”

He waves a dismissive hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah, they eat a lot, it’s not like they can help it! I’ll have Happy here run out and buy more groceries if it bothers you that much.” The kids' appetites have picked up now that they’re getting regular exercise, and it’s becoming increasingly hard to keep a fully-stocked fridge with three extra enhanced mouths to feed.

Natasha sips her tea. “The kids _do_ eat a lot, Stark. It’s raised... some concerns with Morse and I. Will a normal family be able to keep up with all three of their metabolisms? Even the lab they grew up at sometimes had a hard time giving them enough calories, some meals were supplemented by nutrient smoothies. Maybe it could be possible if there was only one kid, but three…”

Tony shrugs, nonchalantly drumming the plastic covering of the cake. “Already thought about it. I’ll set up a payment plan or something so that the family won’t ever have to worry about something silly like grocery bills.”

“It’s either that or you have to consider splitting them up.”

Splitting them up? Tony’s hardly seen them not within feet of each other. “They’re brothers. They go together or not at all.”

Clint’s groan echoes in the walk-in. “What am I supposed to bring as a snack on my run with Cap and Buck now?” 

“Are you telling me you don’t like that food’s going to cute, growing teenagers in need?” Tony snarks. “I thought you were an Avenger.”

“I like it a lot less when their significantly less-cute foster dad is dipping his sticky fingers into my side of the pantry!”

Bobbi reaches across the counter to add more sugar to her coffee. She’s typing away at something on her laptop, which has been her usual state ever since she moved here weeks ago. 

“What’s with the spy conference in here anyways?” He addresses the women at the table and Clint still rummaging through the fridge. “Usually bird-brain here doesn’t stay for weeks on end, what’s up?”

Bobbi glances up at him, unamused. “We’re working on the boys’ case.”

“Oh.” Pepper’s right, he’s tunnel-visioned out on the kids so much that he’s forgotten that there’s an organization out there that’s engineering mutants. “Well, uh, how’s it going?”

“We’re trying to find out what hole Miles Warren disappeared into,” Bobbi says. 

And if that isn’t a surprise. He knew the Connors doctor was behind bars, he watched Steve stuff the reptile into the containment truck himself, but he had just assumed Warren was arrested as part of the rounded up staff. 

“He bailed days before your siege on the lab. Natasha and I have been trying to comb through CCTV footage of the surrounding blocks, but the man’s trickier than a jackal.”

Tony shrugs. “Then just beat some sticks on known HYDRA or AIM nests. Slime sticks together like that.”

“Project CENTAUR is not part of HYDRA, nor an AIM project. Warren had a deep dislike for both groups, actually. His notes say he was worried they’d ‘needlessly damage his life’s work’. I doubt he’d willingly run to them.”

“Then who the hell made these kids? Who the hell was going to buy them, then?”

“Warren and Connors did,” is Bobbi’s sharp, quick reply. “And judging by Warren’s notes of potential buyers, a subsidiary company we were able to positively tie back to OsCorp made a substantial ballpark of how much they’d pay. Other offers were drafted to send to Alchemax and Roxxon but were never delivered. He was looking for like-minded people that'd be both interested in continuing experiments and enslaving the triplets as corporate strong-arms or guard dogs.”

She takes a deep breath, thinking the same thing he is. Cap had just done a mission at an Alchemax lab mere months ago, if Alchemax had three enhanced soldiers to protect their secrets, he likely wouldn't have gotten out of there alive. He can almost see the pitch Warren gave: _Meddling heroes trying to stop your all-important work? Super-villains trying to gank your ideas? Cape-proof your company today!_

“Anyways, you can ask me questions later. Or don’t, I’m busy,” Bobbi dismisses. “Tell the triplets I said happy one month. Only five more left to go, right Stark?”

Tony feels the ice cream tub under his palm start to get squishy, melting. “...Right.”

He and Happy leave to finish setting up the mini-party in the gym. They run into Steve along the way, who tags along, curious. Like the balloons before, a lot of the supplies are leftovers from Morgan’s fourth birthday party. There’s a cartoonish piñata of the Hulk filled with small hard candies hanging from a piece of exercise equipment in the middle of the gym, and a handful of balloons bump and roll around in the slight currents the A/C makes. 

“They destroyed your specially-made punching bags within minutes, so I expect them to go absolutely ballistic on that piñata,” Tony tells Steve as he places the cake down on the rolling dinner cart. 

“That’ll be quite a show,” Steve muses, smiling. “But you know, you can’t just throw games and sweets at them and hope they’ll get better. They’ll need real help eventually.”

Tony scoffs, arranging a small pyramid of water bottles. “Of course I know that. Hello, kidnapped for three months and hooked up to a car battery? I know mental illness. We’re working up to that. They barely trust me as is, I don’t think they’re going to start spilling their guts to a total stranger just yet.” 

“But you are considering it, though. That’s good, because I thought Sam would be a good fit, even if just for right now. It’s not quite the same, but he sometimes works with vets. He’ll be coming back from Brooklyn either later today or tomorrow, so he’ll be on hand if you want to talk to him."

Tony considers this before nodding. “Yeah, sure. We can try that. Tell him to call me when he arrives and we can start working towards an introduction. Under controlled circumstances, though. I’m worried the kids might recognize him from the siege.”

After Steve and Happy leave, it’s just a matter of getting the teens up and ready to go. They are not at all happy when they see he’s brought no breakfast, quite the opposite, really, but he quickly assures them that he has all that and more in the gym. When the kids are finally ushered through the gym door, Tony's little _'Surprise! Happy One Month!'_ falls on deaf ears as the teens make an immediate beeline for the cart. Bruce is there already and gives the boys a little greeting. The kids hum in reply, but their sole focus is ripping open the cake's protective covering.

The chocolate cake’s a big hit. They completely forego the use of plates and just start taking chunks off the dessert with their forks, and there’s even a small spat for the last few morsels. This leads into wrestling, and they take turns pinning each other to the floor until Ben notices the piñata. Tony can see the cogs turning in the teen’s head as his eyes snap back and forth between the Hulk piñata and Bruce. Ben wipes the leftover chocolate from his mouth and investigates the smaller Hulk.

“It’s a piñata. You’re supposed to hit it with sticks, and candy will come out,” Tony explains, tossing a pole to Ben which he catches without looking. 

“It’s Bruce,” Ben says, but it sounds more like a question.

“Yeah it’s me,” Bruce smiles, “I won’t take offence to you beating the stuffing out of that thing. They got my nose all wrong anyway.”

The boys stand underneath the piñata and lightly bat it around with the pole for a while until Peter bops it with his fist. The candy inside rattles. Smiling, Peter reels back and punches a hole in the cardboard Hulk’s chest. The thing practically _explodes,_ candy bursting out like some G-rated version of a Mortal Kombat kill.

Again, the kids are _strong._ He feels bad about scaring Peter a few days ago with the bird, but everything the teens have had in their hands so far has been bent, crushed, or squished! 

“Well, shoot,” Bruce awes in faint, palming his own chest. 

They let the boys do as they wish in the gym. They wrestle, flip, climb the walls, hang from the ceiling, all silent games of their own making, rarely engaging with either adult. It makes Tony wonder about how much time they've had to fill all by themselves, and if they have any interest or even the _ability_ to interact normally with kids their own age.

An hour or two passes before they return to the ground to snack. The dining cart is across the room from the adults to give them the maximum amount of space, but in the middle of gulping down a water bottle, Ben spontaneously gets up and walks to where Bruce’s sitting. The other two kids are quick to follow with a hushed and confused _‘Ben?’_ , and the blond plops down about a five-foot distance from the giant, his brothers scrambling right up beside him. 

“You’re a hero too, aren’t you," Ben says. “You’re the Hulk, from TV. Oprah talked about you.”

Karen’s been doing a good job filtering out programming pertaining to any hero on the LMD list, including Cap and himself, which caused them to awkwardly explain that sometimes the signal gets bad and switches channels for a while. The kids didn’t seem like they bought it, but the excuse was tentatively accepted. It’s not like they know how TV is supposed to work in the first place.

“Ah, yeah. That’s me.” He smiles, joking, “Did you really think there were two big green guys running around in the world?”

Ben shrugs, “There’s three of us…”

Bruce winces, “Ah... Right.”

The teen tilts his head. “A hero doctor… You weren’t one of the mechs, though.”

“What would happen if I was? Would you be scared of me?”

“I don’t know.” After another moment of deliberation he straightens up. “I mean, _no._ Because then we’d know how to kill you.”

Sitting a couple feet away, Tony snorts. “I seriously doubt you guys could beat Bruce, the guy used to level buildings.”

Bruce makes a pained noise. “Tony, you know I don’t like to talk about that…”

“We totally could! We’re strong!” Ben defends. “Fight us!”

“No, I’m not fighting teenagers.”

Ben suddenly stands and closes the distance between himself and Bruce. Bruce startles a bit, adjusting his glasses nervously. Ben hesitates a foot away, shifting back and forth on unsure footing. He puffs out his chest, “Fight us.” In contrast to his bold tone, he timidly taps at Bruce’s shoulder, a shaky provocation. 

“No.”

Ben gives him another shaky, almost abortive tap again.

“Okay, how about this. If you can knock me down, I’ll say I believe you. But no webs, teeth or stingers, okay?”

Bruce stands in position on a gym mat. The boys are eerily quiet as they surround him, then, with a click, there’s a boy going for his ankle and another diving for the opposite shoulder. He’s thrown off balance, but manages to stop Ben with his forearm. Ben takes it in stride, using his sticky feet to cling to the arm and vault himself so that he wraps his legs around Bruce’s neck and slaps his hands over the giant’s eyes. Kaine then shoves him hard in the solar plexus, and Bruce falls backwards onto the mat with a loud _whoomph._

Ben, still locked around Bruce’s neck, declares all too cheerfully, “Annnd _crack._ Dead!”

Bruce pats Ben’s legs, wheezing slightly. “Grip’s a little too strong there, kid.”

The blond squeaks an apology and tumbles away. As Bruce brushes himself off, nodding his congratulations, Tony’s phone buzzes. 

_‘Morse from SHIELD: I’m bored as hell. I wanna wrestle too. OMW’_

Tony stands abruptly, and the kid's swing their gazes to him, alarmed. “Shit, uh…Okay, Bruce? Bobbi’s coming, I have to go stop her -- “

The door creaks open, and a blonde woman in athletic clothing peeks in. “Too late! I sent that text while I was outside the door, I’m not an idiot.” She forces her way inside and cooes when she sees the teens, “Kaine! Peter! Ben! Hello! I’m Bobbi!” 

He shoves in front of her, gritting out, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Stark, I’ve been writing report after report on these three all day, every day for close to three weeks now. If I’m here to babysit I might as well have some fun.”

“What? No. No, nonono! They’re delicate, this is a delicate situation! You need to lea --”

Bobbi sweeps the legs out from under him and he hits the hard, unpadded ground with a painful thud. “I know how delicate of a situation this is. I know more about the boys that I care to admit, everything from their platelet count to their shoe size. I think they can handle this. They’re big and tough, aren’t you guys?”

He follows her gaze over to the teens. They're now perched on equipment, all huddled together in one defensive ball and staring warily at the new arrival. They look anything but big and tough to Tony.

Bobbi purses her lips. Her foot nudges him in the ribs. “Hey, fight me.”

“Are you serious?”

She ties her blonde hair back into a ponytail. “C’mon, there’s a boxing ring right there.”

Needless to say, Tony gets his ass whooped. He holds his ground well, especially for being without a suit or a HUD, but hand-to-hand combat is just not his specialty. The kids go from incredibly anxious and unsure of the new lady to enraptured with how badly he’s getting his ass beat. They gradually inch to the edge of the boxing ring until they’re peeking right up over it, quietly giggling to themselves each time his body hits the mat.

Bobbi smiles as she bends his arm uncomfortably behind him, yelping as she pins him to the floor once again. The teenagers cackle like hyenas from the sidelines.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, kids! Appreciate it!” Tony wheezes when his arm is released. He jumps over the ropes, accepting a towel from Bruce and throwing the metaphorical one in. “I’m done. You had your fun?”

“Mmm, not quite.” She wipes her brow with the collar of her t-shirt, and turns to the kids lined up at the boxing ring’s edge. “One of you want to try?”

Their happy faces go wary again. She huffs, “Or are you guys as weak as Stark?”

_“Hey!”_

“We’re not weak,” Kaine growls into the lip of the mat.

“Then show me what you’ve got! Gimme the alpha sibling. You, hairband,” she points at Kaine. “Get on up here.”

The boy hesitantly climbs over the ropes and stands awkwardly in the corner of the ring.

She readies her stance. “No webs or stingers, bug boy.”

God, this is such a bad idea, he should stop her before --

_“Duck!”_ Peter and Ben shout, and Kaine ducks under a fast right hook. 

Kaine holds his own. Really well, actually. He even does a freaky balancing act on the ropes to kick out at her a few times, but she eventually gets the upper hand, feinting a jab that she turns into a leg sweep. Kaine hits the mat, but before she can pin him he scrambles back and out of the ring, falling a foot to the gym floor with a shout.

Victorious, she rolls her shoulder. “What about all three? That's how you were raised, right? Fighting as a team?”

Incensed by their brother’s loss, they all prepare to take on the agent. She fetches the piñata pole as a stand-in for her staves, to ‘even the odds’, as she says. 

The teens circle her like hungry sharks, clicking those weird noises again. When the fight starts, they get flipped and throttled around, occasionally landing a few punches that knock the wind out of Bobbi. Blows that, knowing the boys’ strength, should have put her down for the count. Are the kids holding back for once? Doubtful, they're snarling like animals.

The fight carries on longer and longer, the kids getting more frustrated every time she bonks them with the pole or uses it to flip them over like pancakes. Kaine eventually breaks the pole in half with a wild yell, but that only makes her faster, better. She gets a pole around Kaine’s neck, bonking Peter over the head again with the other half. Kaine panics and goes for a nip, but Bobbi drops him and takes a hold of his hair instead. Holding his head up, she scolds him like a naughty puppy, “No biting! Especially from you!” Kaine elbows her in the stomach, freeing himself. 

In the end, the kids get her pinned, growling and shoving her face back into the mat as she struggles to flip herself back over.

“Alright! Alright, uncle,” she pants, sweaty blonde flyaway hairs sticking to her forehead. The kids let her up with a final hiss. “Yeah, you guys are good. Really good. But not great. That’s what you get for nerds in glasses teaching you how to fight.”

Grumbling, the kids don’t care to stick around and go back to the safety of the dining cart for more snacks. Ice cream, this time. Neapolitan, just in case one of the flavors strikes their fancy.

Bobbi brushes herself off, pleased with herself. She stands by the door while Stark and Bruce sit, idly watching the kids dig around in the tub of ice cream. 

“Aww, look at that,” Bobbi cooes, “Eating the vanilla portion as if it isn’t the worst flavor out of the three…”

“Excuse me? Vanilla’s a classic. A staple.” Tony responds. “Now I think I deserve an apology. You chew me out for doing something rash with the kids and then you turn around and do the exact same thing?” He holds out his hands. “Hypocritical, much?”

Bobbi is unamused, her stoic spy attitude returning now that she’s not trying to engage with the boys. “They’re strong, but they move mostly on pure survival instinct. Which isn't so much as a negative for them, since they have extremely refined instincts. But it's still sloppy. Their creators didn’t have any military or martial arts training, and it shows. They probably rely heavily on their enhancements to win fights.”

Oh. So this was an information gathering thing. “Filling out those files, I guess?”

“Sure. Something like that," Bobbi hums noncommittally, turning to leave just as one of the kids screeches, experiencing brain freeze for the first time. 

* * *

They spend nearly the whole day at the gym. When the kids look like they're about to web a bed near the ceiling, Tony packs it in for the day. Ben’s bright blue hoodie pocket is full of piñata candy, and it jingles as he pads down the hallway to the elevators. Once back on their floor, the kids run to press themselves up against the glass, as if checking that nothing’s changed, before settling down on the floor to parse out the candy.

The late afternoon sun is bright as it careens through the wide windows. The floor is messy, but not like how it was weeks ago after the fight. Messiness has become less of a problem as the kids have learned to put most of their trash in the trashcan, but some plastic wrappers can still be seen poking out from between cushions or under couches. A few completed puzzles sit lying around, most of them trampled, and Tony has to watch his step lest he step on a piece of Rubik’s cube. A few coffee cups of picked, wilting flowers sit in a neat line against the window. 

Tony asks reflexively, “You have a favorite type yet?”

Ben happily shakes his head no, like so many times before. He asks about the Neapolitan ice cream, and it’s the same answer. His heart drops, no matter what he tries, the kids never ask for things. “Do you guys really not have any favorites? I can get you anything you want, you know.”

Instead of shrugging or ignoring him, Kaine pushes his side of the candy pile away from his brothers’ and _talks_. “It doesn’t matter what we like. It’s useless information.”

_Finally,_ some answers! Full and happy, it seems their walls have temporarily been torn down. “Why is it useless?”

Kaine looks at him like he’s stupid. “Because it doesn’t matter?”

“That doesn’t make any sense, kid. Elaborate.”

The eldest gestures to himself. “Everything important about us is in our genetics and what we can do. Food is just stuff that helps us stay alive and grow up healthy.”

Tony taps his knees and takes a deep breath. “That’s...that’s not how you should see yourself. We talked before about how you guys are more than research, right? You’re kids. Individuals with ideas of your own, wants of your own.”

Kaine shakes his head, eyes sliding down to stare oddly at the candy pile. “Won’t matter when the Doctors come back for us.”

_They’re not coming back for you,_ he wants to say. But he can see where that line of dialogue will lead; angry silence at best, or a screaming match at worst. Maybe their resistance will fade as the months stretch on?

He decides to buy into their denial for the moment. “What will happen when they come for you? Will you be happy?”

* * *

Will he be happy? _Will he be happy?_

Peter's first thought is that it wouldn't matter if they're happy or not. By the Doctors' side is where he belongs. He's proprietary research, helping the world just by existing! 

Kaine falls silent, distant, so Peter takes over, "We're happy whenever we're together, so being together with the Doctors wouldn't be any different. With the Doctors is where we're most useful to the world." 

“Have you really never thought of doing anything more with your life? Being more than someone’s attack dog or experiment?” Stark asks.

“No, it’s all we were made for. It’s all we know how to do. What else _could_ we do?”

Stark perks up, leaping on that question. “You could do a lot of things! So many things!”

Peter’s mind is blank. Try as he might, he can’t think of anything. Maybe a Doctor, or an employee, or a mechanic repairing drones and mechs all day, but none of those _fit_ him. They can’t. He’s not supposed to be anything more than a spider, and he’s perfectly fine with that. It’s simple.

It’s quiet for a moment, with only Ben swirling his hand around in the candy pile breaking the silence. Stark finally takes a deep breath, “The Doctors you keep talking about, are they good people?”

It’s an easy answer, because of course they are! They’re the smartest people in the world!

Stark’s stare becomes intense, pleading. He asks, “Was there ever a time, _ever_ , that you knew they were doing something wrong?”

Against his will, Peter’s mind surges back to a time when they were little. A few moments stand out in fact, etched into his mind. Specks of rot against his honey-gold memories of home. Reminders of what Warren is like when he’s truly angry. Reminders to stay cooperative. 

Instead of defending the Doctors’ honor, they shakily nod and begin to tell Stark one of these reminders.

***

_A nine-year-old Peter kneels on the training floor mat, the mech they were fighting has it’s hand on his shoulder, keeping him locked in place. Ben is in the same position on the opposite side, skin-covered metal hands nailing them both to the spot while they helplessly look on._

_Warren is angry at Kaine. So very, very angry. Warren has an eerily silent type of rage, where it’s not shown through yelling or screaming but is shown in the sharp, deep lines on the Doctor’s reddening face._

_Across the room, Kaine is kneeling as well, his head bowed in apology and trembling in place. Hand wildly combing through his hair and mustache, the Doctor paces silently in front of their brother. Back and forth, back and forth._

_Kaine’s Senselessness was always a problem for Warren. He’s yet to catch up with them, still honing his reaction time to be at least as capable as his brothers, so he gets hurt often. Slows them down. Always just a little too slow._

_Usually when Warren gets mad, if he hasn’t already ordered them into the single rooms, Connors is there to argue with him and deflect most of Warren’s anger onto himself. But today there is no Connors, and Warren hasn’t said a word for the past five minutes._

_Warren rounds on Kaine. “Two! What do you have to say for yourself!”_

_Kaine swallows, “Yes, sir, nothing at all, sir.”_

_“Would you like to say something to your fellow Subjects who have to slave away to protect you all the time?”_

_“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, Three and Four, for making you pick up after me.”_

_Peter relaxes, assuming this is the end of Warren’s anger. He’s usually just hot air, and Kaine already got a smack as punishment._

_But then Warren whacks their ten-year-old brother with his clipboard. Kaine squeals, but Warren doesn’t stop there. He keeps whacking, whacking, and_ whacking _Kaine. Kaine doesn’t fight back, curling on his side into as small of a ball as possible._

_Being so young, Kaine’s stingers extended just on pure reflex, and despite knowing this Warren took that as backtalk and started to intensify his attack. Kaine is kicked repeatedly in the belly and head, his arms wrapped around his vitals in a desperate attempt to protect himself._

_With a plea for mercy, Peter and Ben lunge out of the mech's grip, but Warren backhands them across the face and orders them to_ “Kneel!” _They do as told._

_Warren takes a few breaths, walking around the crying, curled form of Kaine lying on the floor like a circling vulture. He’s back to pacing again. Back and forth, back and forth._

_Warren suddenly lunges for Kaine’s thin wrist, hoisting him up and out of his_ _defensive ball. The Doctor snarls, “I think it’s time I do something I should have done a long time ago. Cull the defect to raise a better, unhindered crop.”_

_Kaine is bawling at this point, begging and squirming in the Doctor’s grip. Peter remembers tears fogging up his vision, his breathing heavy and labored as he helplessly watches Warren struggle to drag Kaine to the training room’s double doors. Warren can’t mean that can he? He wouldn’t! Please!_ PLEASE!

_Like an angel, Doctor Connors wanders through the doors. Connors sees Kaine, crying and begging in the grip of the greying Doctor, and Peter and Ben panicking in the middle of the training mat. Connors goes ballistic._

_Warren and Connors argue like wild animals. Peter had seen them butt heads before, it was a common occurrence, but while those times were fun to watch this time it feels like Peter’s whole world’s on the line. Because it is._

_Warren calls Connors soft, and refuses to let Kaine’s wrist go. When he tries to bargain with the idea of a thorough dissection, Kaine vomits from stress._

_Connors goes a little green at the edges, eyes yellowed with fire. He wrests Kaine from Warren’s grip, holding their panicking brother to his chest with his only arm. Kaine wails into the Doctor’s argyle sweater vest._

_Warren leaves in a hurry when Connors starts to grow scales. Connors drags his only hand through Kaine’s long hair._

_“Hush, Kaine. It’s okay. You’re not going anywhere. Miles wasn’t thinking straight.”_

_Connors orders Peter and Ben closer as well, letting all of them shake apart at his feet. Unlike all other days before, Connors pets them all, regardless of how well they’ve done._

_After that day, Connors always tried his best to never leave them alone with Warren._

_Due to his injuries, Kaine couldn’t climb up to their hideboxes for a couple days. They all slept on the floor instead, and Kaine held onto each of them as tight as he could bear._

_***_

Stark stares ahead, shell-shocked. Beside Peter, Kaine has his head bowed, breathing heavy and deep. Peter feels his own eyes prickle with tears at the memory. It’s not one he likes reliving, much less retelling. They’ve never retold that story to anyone.

“That should have never happened to you. Never! No one should have done that to you. You never should have been in that situation in the first place!” Stark is shaking, trembling with anger. 

“That day was an exception, though. He didn’t beat up on us constantly,” Peter defends. “We’d usually get smacked once and then he’d be on his way, and even that was only rarely.”

“He doesn’t have a right to hit you for any reason, at any time, _period._ No one does.”

“But --”

Stark snaps, “No! No buts! End of sentence!” 

Peter shrinks at the sharpness of Stark’s voice. Ben pipes up, “Connors was nice, though. He never hit us.” 

The man doesn’t look convinced, so they tell him Warren was the only one allowed to punish them. “Well, what about comfort? Did anyone hold you when you were little? Shower you in hugs and say they loved you?”

The spiders are silent for a long while. Ben continues, “Connors pets and praises us, and the employees liked us too, they were always nice.”

“That’s no substitute for real love, kiddo. Who was someone you could always, reliably run to and they’d give you a hug?” 

Peter thinks it over. He remembers being little and sometimes begging for attention from Connors or Warren, but they rarely reciprocated. Always too busy. He doesn’t remember when he stopped trying, instead learning to savor the moments they did pay them attention -- when being trained or examined.

He suddenly feels Kaine wrap his arms around him, draping himself over his back in a tight, grounding hug.

Stark’s face softens, and it makes that bitter knot in Peter’s stomach ache. “It’s just been you three against the world, huh?”

“I miss it,” Ben says. “I miss home.”

“It’s perfectly okay to miss it, I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Stark says. “I just want you to know that, the way you were being treated? I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I don’t think you’d be happy if you went back to them.”

They’ve long forgotten about the candy pile in front of them, Peter’s sure anything would taste bitter to them right now. They have years worth of good memories from home, surely it can’t be all bad if they have good memories? 

Stark continues, “I can just feel it, you’ll love being a part of a family and they’ll love you. Imagine it, adults you can rely on that won’t strike you or put you in cages or perform surgery on you! You’ll be able to go outside whenever you want! Sounds good, right?”

Peter doesn’t know. He worries at his sweatpants string.

Kaine speaks up, shoulders hunched. “How...how does a family work?”

Stark smiles widely, almost madly. The man always acted like it was the greatest thing in the whole world when the spiders actually talked to him, but it’s like they’ve just tossed him a golden ticket or something because the man stands in a hurry. He pauses, stroking his hand along his stubble in thought, like how Warren does. 

“Oh! Oh jesus, I have all these Disney movies Morgan likes, you wanna watch one?”

Stark asks them to make a comfy spot on their side of the webline while he goes to fetch a movie. They do as told, and pile a few blankets and pillows into a fluffy nest on the floor. Peter isn’t too interested in watching a movie with Stark, but Kaine seems oddly invested in what the man has to show them.

Stark brings back a few extra pillows for himself, a tub of popcorn, and a copy of _Lilo and Stitch._ He sets up a laptop on his side of the webline, at an angle where both he and the spiders can watch. 

Peter immediately sees why Stark chose this movie. He finds himself drawing parallels between himself and the blue alien, and it gets to the point where he can’t watch any more. He turns away from the screen, drawing the blankets closer around himself and burying his face in a pillow. Kaine stays enraptured the entire time, laying on his belly with his head propped up on his arms. 

* * *

Only one of the kids makes it to the end of the film. Ben is out like a light nearly halfway through the movie, and even though Peter’s turned away from him, the blanket rises and falls in an even pattern. Asleep. Kaine’s eyes are drooping, but he manages to get to the credits. It’s well into night now, only the light of the laptop illuminating himself and the boys.

“What’d you think, kiddo?” Tony asks.

Kaine shrugs, exhaling roughly into his elbow. He snuffles and burrows deeper into the blankets, preparing to sleep right there on the floor.

As much as it’s amazing that they’re comfortable enough to sleep next to him, only having a blanket between yourself and the hardwood floor is no way to spend a night. He snaps his fingers next to the nest. “Hey, not here, big guy. Go get comfortable in bed.”

Kaine grumbles, but he gets his brothers up and they move sluggishly to their web-hammock.

He cleans up the popcorn, but leaves the laptop just in case they want to watch it again. In his experience, Morgan is never satisfied until she sees every Disney movie twice. He’s elated to see that Kaine isn’t taking lookout, no one is! There is no kid staring down at him in the dark, waiting for him to go away, there's only a mound of blankets struggling to rearrange itself into some semblance of comfort. 

“Happy One Month, kids,” he says from the bedroom doorway. “Sleep tight.”

He collapses onto his workshop couch, dead tired. He’s becoming an old man, he laments. Barely a year ago he could spend all day with Morgan and then immediately get sucked into working on a new project, losing days of sleep at a time in a constant cycle. Maybe he should rethink giving Mo a little sibling if this is how it's going to affect him. One kid is _enough._

Morgan and Pepper are finally arriving home tomorrow, and he knows Mo will be asking to see the boys. Maybe in a week or two he can introduce them to her. Under controlled circumstances, of course. It’ll probably be good that they see fellow kids, even if that kid is ten years younger than every single one of them. Have they ever met another kid before?

It’s a few hours later when Friday wakes him.

_“Sam Wilson is asking for permission to enter the Compound.”_

He looks to the clock on the wall. Three o’clock. This late at night? He throws a pillow over his face. “Yeah, whatever. Let him in wherever.”

_“Of course, Boss.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: Friday takes that order a little too literally... (and FINALLY a return of a short deadpool pov!)
> 
> Also this is the second fic of mine that references Lilo and Stitch, it's not even my favorite disney movie lmao! whats up with that?
> 
> ///What happened in the flashback: Warren beats on Kaine and threatens to kill and dissect him because he's 'defective', Connors comes at just the right moment and saves him and chases Warren off.///
> 
> I'd also like to reiterate that the kids were not subjected to physical abuse often, and it only plays a minor (yet still very present and serious) role in their relationship to the Doctors. Like they said above, it was mainly only a smack to the back of the head every now and then (think how a kid would explain away a spanking from an adult). The main facet of their trauma is mental abuse, specifically emotional neglect, i.e. denial of healthy parental/any adult bonds, denial of comfort, etc.
> 
> tl;dr: uhh i'm not a psychologist, these boys need some hugs to catch up on the ones they missed!!!
> 
> Thanks so much for the support! Questions, comments and kudos always appreciated!


	19. a bird in the hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spiderkids royally mess up their first meeting with an Avenger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This chapters a threshold moment, sorta, and was really fun to write.
> 
> Thanks so much for the support! I'm actually becoming embarrassed at how long this fics getting, lol. So awkward that I still have yet to produce a 300-400 word abstract for a paper getting released this summer on a new species of fossil croc, instead somehow writing 80,000+ words of fanfic. Can't explain that to my adviser no sirree!

Deadpool’s not a stupid guy. 

Sure, people may assume he’s stupid, making dumb jokes and acting like he’s not currently a prisoner of fucking SHIELD at the moment, but he knows fishy business when he sees it. 

And this fishy business comes in the form of the kids, _his babies_ , being frog-marched like prisoners of war past his holding cell to baby Jesus-knows-where, drugged up to their eyeballs. Hill tells him in their next girl-talk session that they’ve been adopted by fucking _Stark_ of all people. Can you believe it? He’s always thought of him as a Pygmalion kinda character, eventually making a whole robot family of his own to fill that hole in his metal heart or something. _Ohh,_ maybe he should ask Stark to make him a robo-lady friend once he gets out? 

Gah! He can’t just have a sexbot in the house! He has _kids_ now! Parenting sucks!

They moved him to the Icebox once he tried to escape. (The Fridge is a much, much taller building than he remembered! Fury was not happy about the Deadpool pizza scraped off the beach and delivered back to his door! As well as the bodies in the corridor!) He has this cool new sorta-roomie now, one everyone assumes is stupid too. 

“Hey, Godzilla, tell me which is better, The Road to El Dorado or Treasure Planet?”

The scaly beast of a man in the cell across from his paces, like always. He’s a big mean green machine, drooling and hissing at everyone that walks by the window, especially at Deadpool. Tattered clothing hangs off Godzilla’s scales, and Wade notices that the guy tries his best to act like an animal or a man not in control of his mutation, but there’s an all-too-human spark of annoyance that appears in his piercing yellow eyes every now and then that he’s oh-so familiar with. 

“Both are underappreciated classics, in my opinion, but El Dorado just has this --- this quality about it, you know?” Wade does a chef’s kiss. “It’s wonderful. The horse was my favorite character --”

Godzilla rushes the window, claws scraping down the glass before he turns away to pace again. _There_ it is, that spark. Wade smiles.

The man’s kept up the act for close to a month now, and if that plaque outside his cell is correct, this ‘Dr. Curtis Connors’ is probably going coco loco with no one to spew his thesis on or something. It’s always the villains with doctorates that can’t shut the fuck up. It’s only a matter of time.

“Are you a betting man, Godzilla?” Wade asks. “It’s been a month, how many more days until Tony-Baloney comes crying back to Fury about how the kids like me soooo much better and want me as a dad instead?” 

Godzilla cracks. He starts to laugh, Wade thought it was more growling at first, but no. It’s a fucked up laugh! Worse than his! Godzilla’s face cracks out in a massive grin, delirious almost. Then he begins to talk, voice gravelly and harsh like the sound a dead body makes when being dragged over pavement.

“Whatever Sssstark is trying to make them into, I fear it won’t work. A bird raised its whole life in a cage will know how to flap its wings and sssscream, but it won’t fly. They’re flawed at the foundation, tainted by the basssstardization of life we gave them. It won’t work,” the beast repeats, almost sadly. “I fear it won’t work.” Then the beast falls silent again, resuming its endless pacing.

Wade takes a minute to process the words. He puts the pieces together -- the secret lab, the kids’ room, the office, mutant kids with three exact sets of powers, the fucking mutated doctor in front of him!

Deadpool’s not a stupid guy.

He revises his plan. Escape, shake Fury down for answers, _kill this man_ , and then pick up kids from Casa de Stark.

* * *

Ben shakes Peter awake. 

“I heard a thump on the roof,” the youngest whispers. “There’s someone he --”

They flinch as a door opens somewhere. It’s not the elevator door, but it’s in the hallway. The emergency staircase. Peter and Ben shrink further down in the web when someone in heavy boots stomps down the hallway, their shadow passing by the halfway-open bedroom door. They quickly shake Kaine awake too.

“Damn, someone let the place go while I was gone.” An unfamiliar, adult male talks to himself in the hallway. Something is kicked across the floor. The fridge door opens. 

Someone’s in their space, stepped over their webline without a care. They quietly creep across the ceiling to peek out the door. Just around the corner, they can see the shadow of the man in the light of their fridge. He paws through _their_ food, _their_ stuff, talking to himself. 

“Tony’s got more of a sweet tooth than usual…” the stranger muses. Ben is right at the threshold of the kitchenette now, and they can finally see the man clearly. He has a metal backpack with blinking red lights, and something is poking out of the backpack, folded almost like bird’s wings.

The birdman. From the invasion. He tried to capture Ben. Is he here for them?

Peter swallows thickly, blood rushing in his ears and heart tightening in his chest. The man is completely unaware of the spiders hanging just above his head, they have the upper hand this time.

They creep closer… and closer…

* * *

Not even fifteen minutes later after letting Sam onto the property, Friday wakes him up with an urgent call. 

_“Boss, you’re needed on the boys’ floor immediately.”_

He snaps awake. Huh? “Direct feed. Top floor west wing.” 

A projector on the workshop flares to life. He sees Sam, headfirst in the boys’ fridge, in their territory, piling food into his arms and the kids slinking up behind him on the ceiling, movements slow and predatory.

_Shit._ He foregoes the use of the elevator, instead rushing up the stairs. _Shit!_ He bursts through the top floor’s doors just in time to hear a scuffle in the kitchen. There’s a cacophony of loud banging and hissing, and Karen frantically trying to order Sam to _just go limp_. Tony flies over their webline and around the corner to see a well-pinned Falcon. 

Ben has his arms wrapped securely around Sam’s neck, not tight enough to strangle but enough to make the man sputter. The boy’s legs are hooked around Sam’s ribcage, also exerting pressure. A deadly bearhug. Peter and Kaine are perched on Sam’s arms, his legs webbed together. He’s trapped like a mouse under three tigers. All three kids startle when he appears around the corner, and Kaine jumps back enough so that Sam can wrench one of his arm’s free, scrabbling at Ben’s hold. 

Sam wheezes, “Tony! Help me!”

“Sam! Stop struggling, just go limp.”

“Are you kidding?! These guys are trying to kill me!”

“No they’re not! If they were you’d be dead! Just _go limp!_ ”

Ben is hyperventilating, panicked. Tony moves to step forward, but Peter snarls, nearly feral, and squeezes down on Sam’s arm hard enough that the man gasps in pain.

Tony begs, hands out open and placating “Kids! Let him go, he’s not a threat.”

“No! He was -- He’s with SHIELD! He’s here to take us away! He’s -- he’s a hunter! You lied!”

“No, no he’s not! I told you, I won’t let anything take you away from here, and I meant that. Sam’s my friend, a hero like Iron Man, remember? You thought he was a hunter too. His hero name is the Falcon. A hero.”

Tony scoots forward on his knees, and Ben unwraps one arm to scale the kitchen cabinets behind him, dragging Sam up to a sitting position by the neck. 

Sam wheezes as his ribcage is squeezed, “Ah, _TonyTonyTony --_ ” 

“ _Hey!”_ He barks. “Don’t make me dose you, please. I don’t want to dose you. Don’t hurt him.”

Sam thankfully goes limp, harmless, hands falling to his sides. Ben seems unsure, his leghold on Sam’s chest shifting in confliction. Tony shifts forward again, and Ben yanks Sam farther away, the kids dragging him around the kitchenette floor like a gazelle dangling from the jaws of lions.

“Hey, hey, hey, I promise it’ll be okay. Just let my friend go.”

Ben swallows, his breathing returning back to normal. “You...You promise?”

Tony frantically nods, _yes!_ Slowly but surely, the youngest of the three releases his hold on Sam, scurrying to press himself close to the cabinets once Sam slumps to the floor.

“Good, that’s good. Good job. Thank you.” Tony breathes. He turns his attention to the Falcon. “Are you okay? Did one of them bite you?”

Sam shakes his head, “No? Maybe? I don’t think so…”

Ah, better to be safe than sorry then. Where did he put the anti-venom again?

Pressed against the cabinets, Peter starts to slump, falling face forward and onto the ground in a heap. Kaine drops next with a strangled noise, and Ben’s head knocks against the cabinets as he too loses control over his body. 

“Wait, I... I -- I didn’t do that! I didn’t order that!” Tony balks, only a few people have the power to order Karen to dose them. He and… “Morse. _Shit._ ”

Sam coughs. Tony quickly gathers him up, pulling him back over the webline. He looks frantically back and forth from the paralyzed kids in the kitchen to Sam in the hallway. 

Falcon leans against the wall, cradling his side. “What the hell is all this? Who are they?”

Tony rushes back over to the kids to maneuver them into more comfortable positions, running a calming hand through their hair when he can. They’re all awake and unharmed, except for a bleeding gash that runs along Kaine’s thigh. They blink owlishly up at him, pupils dilated and terrified. “God, Sam, don’t you read the groupchat?”

“They tore the wings right off the suit,” Sam breathes in awe, “Tore them right off.”

Sparing one last look at the kids on the floor of the kitchenette, he helps Sam into the elevator. Sam says he’s fine, but Tony hurries him to the medbay anyway. Along the way, he orders Friday to deploy a spare suit.

* * *

Bobbi hates this mission. She raised hell when Fury first called her in to give her the first briefing; she’s a _spy_ , not a social worker. This is _not_ how she wants to spend six whole months, cooped up in a building full of people with massive hero complexes and egos to match, as well as three wild, genetically enhanced, traumatized children. All this shit is Fury’s fault anyway, from start to finish, and as soon as Stark sheds the rose-tinted glasses the triplets are giving him, he’ll figure it out and add another annoying layer to this shit cake.

She _hates_ this mission. But now, with her fingers curling around the sardine can sized box encapsulating three syringes of Rogers-grade sedative, she hates it for an entirely different reason. 

There was a time when she would have been happy that this is happening. She’s seen the housing SHIELD had built for the boys -- she’s honestly jealous. There are full sized rooms, a pool, multiple floors, and even a gymnastics area and garden built in. And in SHIELD’s care, they could get specialized help. Child psychologists, therapists, a high school education, you name it. 

But to be honest, over the last few days she’s found herself rooting for the triplets, hoping they’d learn to adjust to normal, proper society. The bug boys had somehow wormed their way into her heart. The triplets are little spitfires, endearing in the way they act like they can take whatever shit the world throws at them, tougher than anything. It’s something you can’t glean from their files or occasionally checking in on them through a screen, and she thinks she understands what Stark sees in them now. Which makes this process all the more painful.

“Morse!” Iron Man calls, voice tinny through his modulator. Unsurprisingly, he’s standing guard at the elevator door in all his red and gold glory. “Not another step forward. Sam’s fine, they didn’t hurt him. Let’s just forget about it.”

Damn it. She really did not sign up for this shit. “You’ve said that every time the triplets have slipped up,” she points out, pocketing the syringe case and unhooking her staves from her hip. 

He lifts his palms, whirring and ready to fire. A clear threat. “Can we come to an agreement?”

She lifts her staves in the same way. “Perhaps.”

_Yes,_ something in the back of her mind scratches, surprising her in it’s honesty, _please give me a reason to not do this._

* * *

They’re left on the cold kitchenette floor. Stark just...left them here. _Left them here,_ unable to move, in the dark. Vulnerable, open to attack.

Peter can feel his heart pound against his ribs. It’s like he’s vibrating with each pulse of blood that races through his body, his lifeblood rushing in his ears. If it weren’t for the equally fast, equally strong heartbeats of his brothers beside him he might really start to have a meltdown right here on the tile.

They didn’t know! How were they supposed to know that the birdman was a friend! Peter forces a whine out of his throat, begging his body to move. They have to hide, run, fight, whatever -- they hurt someone, _attacked_ someone who wasn’t a threat and now they’re going to be sent back to SHIELD! Peter doesn’t want to go back to those cells. He doesn’t want to be alone. He’d rather be anything but alone! 

He whimpers when a hand lands on his upper arm. Please, please, please…

“Hey… Jus’ me…” Kaine whispers, voice wobbly, still drugged. “Gonna hide.” 

Stupid! He can’t move yet! Peter whines again, trying to get his point across. Through sheer willpower, Kaine wobbles over him, sometimes collapsing onto his chest in exhaustion. 

“Yeh, I g’t it… I’ll pr’tect,” Kaine huffs into Peter’s shirt. 

With their ears pressed to the floor, they can faintly hear a commotion happening somewhere in the building. Every now and then, shuddering blows rumble softly through the floor, like a quieter version of how it was immediately before Iron Man burst through their glass window. Is this another invasion? Will they have to run again?

The faint booming sounds continue. He’s the last one able to regain proper coordination, and so Ben has to piggyback him to the bedroom. They web the door closed and hide under the stripped bed, moving a few blankets from the web-hammock to the bed to conceal them better. It’s dusty underneath, making Peter’s eyes and nose itch.

“It’s all my fault, I attacked first,” Ben says, hair full of dustbunnies. “They’re going to take us away.”

Kaine hisses, “It’s not your fault. We didn’t know. We’re _not_ leaving.” 

Peter whines into his arms, “They’re going to drug us again and separate us.” 

“Shut up! We’re not leaving! What does your Sense say?”

Peter swallows. It’s a hum, not fatal danger, but more like someone whispering _keep on your toes_ in his ear. “Low threat.”

“Okay. Low threat. That’s doable. Yeah, we can work with that.” Kaine exhales.

“Sure, but we can’t just stay and wait for them to come for us! We need to run, we need to get out of here --” Peter tears at his bracelets, jerking painfully when it shocks him over and over again. They’re sitting ducks!

“Shut up! Stop that! Hey, I asked you to trust me, right?”

Peter and Ben nod. 

“Then _trust me_ to keep us safe. Don’t flip out. Karen, what’s happening?”

_“Mr. Stark is trying his best to convince Mrs. Morse to not sedate you.”_ Ben whimpers. _“Sam Wilson, the Falcon, is fine, and unhurt aside from light bruising. There is nothing to be afraid of.”_

Kaine presses his ear to the floor again, but there’s no more noise coming from down below. Silence. “Is that what the booming noises were?” When Karen confirms this, an unsettled pause settles over the spiders. “How…What?” Stark’s just a man, what the hell was making those noises? 

“Is Stark _okay?”_ Ben asks. If Stark’s been hurt, who’s to stop this Morse person?

With an almost amused lilt to her voice, she answers, _“Oh, yes.”_

* * *

It feels good to be back in the suit. He hates that this is the reason he has to put it on, defending a few teenagers from having their lives up-ended another time, but feels good nonetheless. It feels right. He’s Iron Man, a hero. He saves people.

“Stark,” Bobbi grits as she blocks a blow, her staves clanging against the metal of his suit. “Just let me do my job! Delaying will only stress the triplets out more. Let’s just rip this off like a band-aid, for ours and their sake.”

He blocks a stave swinging for his collarbone. “Uh, how about no? Can I get a rain check on that? Does the first Tuesday of the next decade work for you?”

Bobbi grunts annoyed, and continues her attack. Block, _clang,_ dodge, _clang._ She’s coming at him clad only in pajamas and staves -- retaliating would just be unfair. 

“Hey, I’m in a multimillion dollar titanium alloy suit. Sorry, you just can’t win this. Why don’t you just go back to your room and act like you never woke up in the first place? Fury won’t know a thing.”

With a yell, Bobbi rears back and kicks him hard in the chest. _Superhumanly_ hard. He goes flying back, hitting the wall a few meters away. _What?_

Bobbi rolls her shoulders. “Yeah.”

...Okay, kid gloves off then. 

The fight intensifies. He throws punches, kicks, fires repulsor shots, all of which are caught, blocked and deflected. In this enclosed space, they’re an even match.

“You’re not a normal SHIELD agent --” He grunts as he catches her fist, “ -- are you?”

Bobbi traps one of his arms behind him. “Let’s just say there was more than one reason Fury decided to saddle me with this.”

What in the hell? He’d run a full background on Morse the day she came. She has a doctorate in biology, her SHIELD Operative number is 9317, has a pet cat named Chip -- nothing said anything of her being _enhanced._ Secrets upon secrets, what else could he have expected from SHIELD? Everything suddenly makes sense -- the kids weren’t holding back at the gym, she was just naturally able to hold her own against them.

He flips her over his head, repulsor primed at her face. He implores, “Sam’s virtually _unharmed._ If they wanted to seriously hurt him, they would have, don’t you agree? Kaine would have stuck his little stingers right through his heart if he really wanted.”

“You’re not making this sound any better.”

“You know what I mean. You’ve seen it, there are normal kids in there somewhere. I won’t let you near them.”

At some point during the fight, a case falls out of her pocket. It pops open to reveal three hypodermic needles, capped and ready to go. When she dives for it, he kicks it down the hall. 

“It’s not that I want to do this, Stark, it’s about the principle.”

“Well, the principle’s fucking stupid!” He throws up his hands. “Do you seriously think another upheaval of their lives is going to make a positive impact on their well-being? Being drugged and waking up in new place after new place?”

“Of course not! But the triplets made their choice, they actively chose to attack Wilson. What if this was in regards to Pepper? Morgan? Would you defend them so adamantly if it was your family and not your friend?”

That gives him pause, awful images flashing in his head. Pepper pinned down to the kitchenette floor, Morgan crying in the hold of one of the kids… No, they know enough to not attack children, right? They were trained to attack adult enhanced, a child wouldn’t register as a threat to them.

She takes his silence as an answer. “See? Exactly. Now let me -- “

Tony raises his gauntlet and fires it at the syringe case. It bursts on impact, tiny slivers of glass and burnt metal casing erupt in a tiny explosion at the end of the hall. The fight comes to an abrupt standstill.

“Can’t take them if you have no way to sedate them,” Tony says.

Bobbi remains unimpressed. “I could always just use the muscle relaxant.”

Tony shrugs, “Wears off after ten minutes, you risk an overdose or acclimation if you use it all the way to Headquarters.”

“Manhandle them into their containment transport?”

“I thought you said you wanted this to be as stress-free for the kids as possible?”

Bobbi sighs, shoulders slumping. 

“Look, Sam was only attacked because they recognized him, and how he so brazenly entered their territory. They’re sensitive to things like that.” Tony can’t count the number of times he’s been hissed, glared or growled at because of straying too close to the webline or their personal bubble. “Think of it as if you saw a guy that broke into your previous home suddenly breaking into your new one, you’d be scared too, right?”

Bobbi rehooks her staves to her hip. “I know. I’m not an idiot. The key word there is _home_ , though. Do they really see the Compound as home? For all you know, they could have been on the street and done the exact same thing.”

_Do_ they see the Compound as home? His knee-jerk reaction is _Yes, of course they do._ But that’s not completely true, is it? They’ve repeatedly said miss their old home, and are adamant that their previous captors will come back to fetch them.

He shrugs, “You have to feel a place is home enough to defend it, right?”

She scoffs, incredulous. “Defense. Is that what you’re calling it?” She exhales and looks away, at the elevator doors behind Tony, at the ruined case. She drags a hand through her blonde bedhead. 

“C’mon, give them one more chance. They’re learning.”

Bobbi breathily laughs, shaking her head. “God, you’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

Tony doesn’t humor her with an answer, it’s obvious.

“Good. ‘Cause I’m serious about it too. I won’t take them.” She almost looks relieved. “You win. You’re right, I can’t take the triplets without hurting them more.”

Tony’s eyebrows raise underneath the faceplate. Oh. Really? Just like that? “Good. Great! _Thank you_ for seeing the light, finally.”

She whips back around with a face that screams ‘don’t push your luck’.

* * *

The spiders’ breath hitches when they hear the elevator doors whoosh open.

They burrow closer to one another under the bed as two pairs of footsteps make their way down the hallway and past their webbed-up bedroom door. 

“They’re up, the relaxant wore off,” a distinctly Stark-like voice states further down the hall. He’s okay! Did he fight Morse off, then? Stark paces back and forth and calls for them, “Kids?” 

“Bedroom,” a somehow familiar, cutting female voice says. “Either bathroom or under bed. That’s usually the norm.”

A knock. Stark’s worry-filled voice filters from behind the hardwood door. “Boys?”

They don’t respond. Kaine glances at his brothers in silent question. Their Sense is quiet again, no longer humming, but Peter’s anxiety is still through the roof. 

Stark opens the door a little bit, making a surprised noise at the webbing that stretches between the door and the doorjamb. “Hey, no one’s in trouble. We just want to know if you’re okay.”

“Here, let me,” the female says. And suddenly the door is freed, swinging open to reveal two pairs of legs in the hallway. Stark gets on his hands and knees, cheek pressed to the floor, trying to spot them. 

“I don’t see them, it’s too dark,” he says. “Kids, you can come out now, we’re just here to check on you. _And,_ someone’s here to apologize.”

They refuse to budge or make a noise, not until they know for certain who the woman is. Stark sits dejected in the hallway. “Are they really under the bed?” 

His companion sighs loudly and steps over the webline. Against Stark’s protests, she strides confidently over to the bed. The woman gets on her stomach and Kaine softly growls when they’re suddenly face-to-face with the blonde, crazy strong lady from the gym.

“Bingo,” She smiles. “Yeah, they’re under here.” She creeps her hand under the bed, teasing them, and laughs when Kaine slaps the ground trying to scare her off -- they already attacked someone who wasn’t to be attacked once tonight, they aren’t going to risk a second mistake. “Ooh, I see you, feisty. You gonna come out now?”

“No,” Ben hisses. He takes a swipe at her hand from underneath the bed, a warning. “Get back over the line.”

She narrows her eyes at the spiders, her smile challenging. Somehow her presence makes Peter feel like a bug trapped under a cat’s paw. “Why don’t you make me?”

Stark barks, _“Morse!”_

_She’s_ Morse? The one who wants to sedate them? _And Stark let her up here?_

Kaine pounds the floor underneath the bed again, loud and threatening. “We’re not going with you. We didn’t know.”

“Feisty, feisty…” she chides playfully. “You guys know you messed up pretty badly, though, right?”

Peter’s breathing starts to heighten and he hisses. He scoots back as much as he dares, prepared to bolt. He tries to crane around Morse’s face to send a pleading glance at Stark, but it’s impossible.

“Why did you attack him?” She asks, her arms pillowing her cheek as she talks to them. “Were you angry? Scared? ...Vengeful?”

Stark makes a pained noise, “Morse, get back over here…”

“ _Go away,_ ” Ben growls. “Get back over the line...” 

“ _Make me_ , kid.” As if to taunt them more, she makes herself even more comfortable on the floor, reclining on her side like a Victorian queen. “Just like you did with Sam.”

“No, you’ll take us…” Ben says.

“So are you saying that if it weren’t for the threat of going back to Headquarters with me, you’d attack again?”

Ben whines, but it’s not an answer. Peter doesn’t know the answer himself. Probably, yeah, he’d try to get her out of their space -- she’s too close, too much of a threat, too much _everything._ He doesn’t want her here anymore.

“Do you understand what you did wrong? Why you’re in trouble?”

“Yes!” Ben’s voice cracks. “We’re not supposed to attack Stark’s friends! We didn’t know he was a friend!”

“That’s not good enough,” her words are cold, a freezing burn of ice on Peter’s hammering heart. It’s too hot under here, he’s sweating. “You aren’t supposed to attack _anyone._ ”

“Morse, what the _hell_ is this supposed to accomplish?” Stark complains from the hallway.

“He attacked us first, though!” Peter argues, “Back at the lab!”

“And because of that you thought it better to hit back instead of asking him nicely what he was doing in your fridge? Is that what well-adjusted, normal teenage boys do?”

Peter doesn’t know! He’s never met a normal teenage boy!

_“Morse!”_ Stark’s raised voice cuts through the growing tension, loud enough to make the spiders jump and bump their heads on the bedframe. “Cool it with the theatrics!”

“If you’re not going to let me take them, I at least want to know how much they understand about their actions,” Morse says over her shoulder at the man. “We have to know how likely a repeat offense is.”

“They’re not going to reoffend! Right boys?” The spiders shake their heads, unsure what they’re exactly agreeing to in the heat of the moment but definitely sure who’s side they’re on. “See? Model citizens from here on out. No one’s getting taken away. You guys aren’t in trouble.”

Morse makes an incredulous noise, adding, “Well… maybe a little bit of trouble.”

Tony grits out a harsh _‘seriously? not now’_ under his breath. “Morse, why don’t you apologize already? You know, the thing you said you were going to do?”

The blonde exhales before leveling a cool look at them. Her fingers drum on the wood floor. “I was the one who dosed you. I hope you can understand why I did it, and I hope you _doubly_ understand that if this happens again, I will transfer custody. Your overprotective mother hen be damned. Get it? No more second chances.”

Tony complains that that doesn’t sound like much of an apology, but it does to Peter. It sounds like how Warren or Connors apologize. Despite this, he nods, but it isn’t like he’s going to forgive her.

“So, are you gonna come out from under there now?”

It takes a little more coaxing from Stark to get them out. A few more ‘ _yes, you’re not going to be separated’_ , and ‘ _no, you’re not in trouble’_ is enough for them to gather the confidence to slowly shimmy backwards out from under the bed. 

They settle themselves on top of the mattress. Boldness returning, Kaine demands with renewed venom in his voice, “Get back over the line.” 

“Oh, _there’s_ that moxie again,” Morse smiles, defiantly _not_ moving back over the webline. “So what, you find out you’re in the clear and now you’re back to puffing up at everyone like a pack of feral kittens?”

“No,” Kaine defends, “We just want you out of our room.”

Morse tilts her head for a second, like she’s amused at the phrasing, before nodding satisfied. With a certain type of disciplined flair, she stands and joins Stark on the other side of the webline, mumbling something about teenagers.

It’s an odd standoff. The spiders are positioned defensively on the bed, and the two adults are either leaning on the doorway or worriedly looking on at them from the floor.

“Are you hurt?” Stark asks, his eyes roaming them for any obvious signs of injury. “Sam’s a fighter, I know he got in a lucky hit or two.”

It’s true. Wilson’s wing clipped him hard in the side, and Peter knows it’ll work itself into an awful purpling bruise in an hour or so and disappear just as quickly. As for his brothers, a wingtip cut Kaine across the leg and Ben was throttled around a bit as he clung to the man’s torso. But they’ve had much, much worse.

“We’re fine,” Kaine informs them.

“I can see you bleeding all over the mattress, kiddo.” 

Kaine shrugs. He pulls at the slash in his pant leg, hiding the wound.

Morse smiles again, sharp and dangerous. “Either you come over here and let this worry-wart patch you up, or I’ll step back over and fix you myself.”

The eldest sneers, shifting on the mattress, thinking it over. Peter may not like Stark all that much, but he likes Morse a lot less. Kaine lets Stark slap a band-aid on it.

With a final warning that sends a chill up Peter’s spine, Morse leaves declaring that it’s late and they should get back to bed. Knowing how close they came to being separated, Peter and his brothers don’t feel like sleeping anymore. They tuck themselves back into the web-hammock, trying to seek out somewhere safe and calm to recuperate. Stark seems to feel the same way, because he chooses to keep them company, quietly piling the mangled remains of Sam’s wings into the hallway as he encourages them to sleep this whole ordeal off. 

Peter’s secretly grateful he stayed, because at least his presence means Morse won’t be able to take them if she suddenly changes her mind. He’s...a protector. Their protector. The busted lip and bruised cheekbone the man’s sporting proves that. 

Stark apologizes multiple times on his friend’s behalf. Apparently Sam wasn’t aware that this floor was occupied, and was just trying to find a midnight snack. It still doesn’t explain _why_ the guy was here in the first place. It can’t be a coincidence that so many mutants and heroes live under the same roof as Stark, right?

The man eventually goes quiet to let them rest. He inspects the wing scraps with a tired, beaten look in his eye, occasionally drawing that same gaze over to them. Disappointment, maybe? Whatever it is, it makes Peter’s insides twist, so he pulls the blanket completely over himself, preferring to shut out that feeling and those dark eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: Something fundamental shifts in the boys' relationship to Tony, Morgan and Pepper come home, and the boys think hard about where they really are. 
> 
> I appreciate every comment and kudos!! Love you all ! Let's hope I survive finals week!


	20. frameshift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something shifts in the boys relationship with Stark, and Tony's family comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exams are officially over! Lets hope my grades pull through....

Tony blinks awake to a gentle tap on his bruised cheek. After clearing the pain caused by the curious finger and the blinding morning light, he’s face to face with one of the kids.

Kaine is crouched in front of him, extremely close. Closer than Kaine has ever dared to willingly come before. He looks none the worse for wear, and his brothers behind him tiredly rub at their eyes. They probably didn’t sleep. It’s a puzzle how he managed to pass out on their hallway floor.

“You were snoring,” Kaine informs him, voice soft. 

“Was I?” Tony props himself up against the wall he was slumped against, and the mangled, bent wing of the EXO-7 wingsuit slides off his lap and clatters to the floor. Kaine picks it back up for him, keeping his eyes downcast as he holds it out for him to take. 

“Karen’s been calling for you,” Peter says from the back, “Your family’s here.”

Oh! He stands and the spiderkids scoot back a few feet, but he misses how they don’t scamper back over the webline. “Really? How late is it?”

He scrambles to gather up most of the wingsuit, hurrying to the elevator. The boys help him with fetching a few pieces from the wrecked kitchen. As Kaine hands him the last piece, he shifts his gaze down to his feet again and says, “We’re sorry, Mr. Stark.”

He brushes the apology off with a quick _‘don't worry about it, kid'_ and bids them goodbye with a promise to be back later. It’s only when he’s halfway to the ground floor his mind screeches to a halt. 

_Mr._ Stark.

Huh. That’s new.

* * *

_“Daddy!”_

A three foot tall wrecking ball barrels into Tony’s legs. Morgan looks up at him, sugar plastered all over her cheeks and the pastry in her hand staining the back of his pant leg with raspberry jam. She chirps, “We’re back! You look so tired!”

“Yeah, well, I had quite the night, Mo,” he replies. Pepper’s laughing with Morse over by the lobby doors, because _of course_ they would get along. His wife and child’s luggage is piled in a neat stack beside her, and before Morse can finish offering to help take it to their family suite Tony cuts in.

“Ah-ah, no thanks. We can take it from here.” He struggles to waddle over with Morgan octopus-ing around his legs. “Go, shoo. Go write another report or plot to uproot another kid’s life or something.”

_“Tony!”_ Pepper chastises. Morse scoffs and strides away to the dining quarters, declaring she needs caffeine. Come to think of it, that bitter gold would be pretty nice right about now...

“God, Tony, you look like a wreck,” Pepper worries, cupping his face in her hands while she scans his injuries. “Have you been sleeping lately?”

He can’t help but lean into her touch. “Uhh, well --”

“Dad says he had a bad night!” Morgan shouts.

“It wasn’t that bad, we just had a _tiny_ emergency,” he shrugs, making a pinching gesture with his hand. “A tiny one.”

Pepper raises an eyebrow at him, mouth pulled into a thin line. He knows that look; her specialty _‘tell me what the hell happened right now or else’_ face.

“Sam came back last night, but came in through the rooftop entrance and stumbled onto the boys’ floor. They were scared, and they gave him a strongly worded message about trespassing. Sam’s down in medical, but --”

“He’s what?!”

“-- but he’s not hurt! They just, er… strangled him a bit. He’s only bruised.”

Pepper scoffs, drawing a worried thumb over his bruised cheekbone. “Did the kids do this to you?”

“Did Peter hit you again?!” Morgan squawks, her tiny face indignant, almost scandalized.

“No! Noo, this was Agent Morse’s doing. She was going to take the kids,” he defuses. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Tony…” Pepper sighs. She almost looks as tired as he feels. “Should I be worried about Morgan?”

He quickly assures her that they’re not allowed to leave the top floor of the west wing, only occasionally coming down to stretch their legs on the front lawn or gym. Nothing to be worried about. She doesn’t seem convinced at first, so he starts to ramble on about all the _good_ moments the boys have had as they drag the luggage back to the suite. She’s smiling by the end of it, laughing along to his tale about getting hosed down on the front lawn.

“I’ll take you to meet them sometime, you’d love them,” he smiles, watching Pepper unpack her make-up bag. “Though, given their track record so far you’d either have to be a mutant or kick the snot out of me for them to like you back.” 

“Ohh, I like that second option,” she smirks. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Morgan barrels into their room seconds later, demanding the Compound’s specialty pancakes and a visit with each resident Avenger.

* * *

Mr. Stark doesn’t come back for breakfast.

It’s quiet on their floor. The spiders barely talk to each other, numbly picking through the wreckage of the kitchen for food. Like Bruce showed them, they put all the wood splinters from broken cabinets and squashed, ruined food into the trash can, cleaning up as best they know how.

Drained mentally and physically, they take a few fluffy blankets and curl up next to the window. It’s a warm, sunny morning, and they settle down to just... wait. For what, Peter doesn’t know. Maybe for Mr. Stark? For Morse to step through the door and haul them away while he’s gone? He can still see Mr. Stark’s disappointed look in his mind’s eye. They messed up so bad.

Steve jogs out onto the training field sometime later, preparing for his morning run. He gives them a jaunty, eager wave as he warms up, and it feels like a breath of fresh air into Peter’s too-tight chest. It gives him hope that nothing’s changed, that normalcy will resume despite their mistake.

The warmth of the sun and the close, grounding presence of his brothers comforts him enough to burrow deeper into the softness.

  
  


Mr. Stark doesn’t come back for lunch.

They nap on and off in the same spot, basking in the sun and blankets. Peter sometimes forgets he’s in the Compound, instead expecting to wake up under the humming bulbs of the heat lamp only for that dream to be torn away when the cool glass against his cheek and the unrestrained brightness of outside registers to his exhausted mind. It doesn’t disappoint him like it used to, though. He’s not sure what to make of that.

It’s early afternoon when the elevator doors finally whoosh open. Peter lifts his head off Kaine’s back to see who’s arrived. It’s not Mr. Stark. Bruce is standing at the far end of the hall like a huge, awkward shadow, plates in hand. 

“Hello boys,” the giant rumbles, voice deafening after long hours of silence. “Tony says he’s so, _so_ sorry about not bringing you breakfast. It’s been quite a morning. And quite a night for you guys too, I’ve heard.”

Kaine props himself up. “Where’s Mr. Stark?”

“He’s with his family. It’s been a while since he’s seen them, so he got a little caught up in spending time with them. Sorry. You know how he is.” Bruce shifts side-to-side at the edge of the webline. “Er, so should I…?”

They don’t let Bruce over the webline. Kaine retrieves the food, and with their backs turned to him they scarf the steak tips and fries down. Bruce gets the hint and disappears back into the elevator to do who knows what somewhere else in the building.

They spend the rest of the day by the window corner in silence. Ben nervously messes with Peter and Kaine’s hair, teasing out tangled knots with his fingers until he can run his hands through unhindered. It feels good, calming, and Peter settles deeper into the blankets to chase the warmth they've soaked up before the sun sets in a few hours.

Mr. Stark doesn’t come back for dinner.

* * *

Dinner is a nightmare. He and Morgan are sitting at the common floor’s kitchen island, and Morgan is so excited that she guessed two out of three of the boys’ names right that she practically inhales her steak and fries, causing Tony to be beside himself with worry that she’ll choke before she gets to taste her victory ice cream.

He breathes a sigh of relief when Pepper finally brings back a pint of rocky road for her, loudly lamenting how empty the pantry is on the dining floor. This leads into a discussion about the kids, and he pulls up a highlight reel of sorts consisting of surveillance footage of the boys on his tablet for Pepper to look at.

“See? They’re super sweet when alone, always snuggling like big puppies or something.” He scrubs to a piece of footage that shows them curling up on the couch together. “They’re more nervous when people are around. But they’ve been getting better lately! I even got them to watch _Lilo and Stitch_. I think Kaine’s coming around to the idea of joining a family.”

Pepper hums, “I’ve been meaning to ask, how are you going to place them? I mean, I imagine these kids don’t have documentation of any kind -- no birth certificates, no social security numbers, nothing. Legally, Tony, these kids don’t exist. You’re not going to be able to just toss them into the foster system without raising a few red flags.”

“C’mon, we can pull a few strings document-wise,” he winks at her, and she eye-rolls back at him. “And I’ll hand-pick a family, probably.”

“So what, are you going to make a Facebook ad declaring _‘_ _Three enhanced teenagers in need of good home!_ ’ like they’re stray cats needing adoption?”

“Sure, why not?” He says, and Pepper snorts a laugh. “It’s not like I have all the logistics mapped out yet. I’m just trying to get them adoptable first.”

Morgan clangs her spoon down on the table across from them. “I want to meet them! How old are they?”

“Sorry Mo, you can’t right now,” he tells her, immediately regretting it when her face falls. “And they’re big kids, fourteen to fifteen years. A little too old for tea parties.”

“No one’s too old for tea parties…” Morgan pouts, taking a petulant bite of her ice cream. “You said _you_ weren’t too old for tea parties.”

“That’s ‘cause daddy’s not old yet.”

Morgan huffs. “Why are they here anyways? Do they not have a mom or dad?”

Tony scratches at his head, uncomfortable. “Ah, well… No. They’ve lived together in a lab their whole life, they don’t have anyone else. They’re here because this is the safest place for them to be right now.”

Morgan thoughtfully swirls her ice cream around in her bowl. “Oh. That’s sad.” She clinks her spoon around, a thoughtful expression on her face. 

“How badly were they treated?” Pepper asks. 

He takes a deep breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Pretty bad. They were experimented on on a regular basis. They were hit too, but the kids are adamant that it wasn’t often. In fact, they want to go back to the people that hurt them.” Tony takes the tablet and scrubs to a playfight in the gym, gesturing to how healthy they are. “The problem is, all their basic physical needs were met. They were given plenty of food, water, exercise, rest, whatever. And to kids who don’t know what it is, being provided those simple needs feels a lot like love.”

Morgan’s face scrunches in confusion, so Pepper steps in. “Imagine if Tony and I fed you every day but never played with you or hugged you, but it never made you sad because that's how you think families are supposed to work. That’s how the boys upstairs are.” She turns to him, “Right?”

Morgan goes back to clinking her spoon around, no longer eating her victory ice cream.

Tony taps the counter in front of her, “Hey, we’ve been trying to help them feel more welcome here. Would you like to give them a few gifts? Or, I don’t know, a card to introduce yourself?”

Morgan lights up like the fourth of July, “Yes!” She hops down from the island chair and hurries off towards her room, ice cream totally forgotten. Once they catch up to her, Morgan’s drawing picture after picture on construction paper, all scribbled gifts for the boys. She’s a true artist too, not allowing Tony or Pepper to see until she’s done with all of them. She works hard right up until her bedtime, making sure to to hide her masterpieces under her mattress for safe keeping.

* * *

Peter wakes up first in the web-hammock to rumbling white noise.

Mr. Stark doesn’t come back for breakfast.

* * *

Tony checks on Sam the next morning in the medbay. He has a big knot on his forehead and bruising around his chest and neck area, as well as a hairline fracture to one of his ribs which Morse may or may not know about. He’s hoping not. 

As soon as they determine that Sam's hemotoxin-free, he’s given the all clear, allowed to wander around the medbay as he likes, and Tony uses that opportunity to catch Sam up on the situation since the guy apparently doesn’t look at his texts. 

“So… They’re capekillers. Like the robot suits you made to beat up Cap years ago?” Sam asks, sitting on the medbay bed.

“Trained to be, yeah,” Tony shrugs. “Whatever organization that greenlit Project CENTAUR was trying to make soldiers that could restrain and detain enhanced people, and the people in charge of the project also used it as an opportunity to further their scientific careers. That’s how the kids came to be. Lab rats and soldiers in one.”

“And… you want me… to go back up there and play therapist to _capekillers_ …? Kids that, you know, tried to squeeze me like a damn stress toy not even a day ago?”

Tony clasps his hands behind his back. “Uh, yeah?”

Needless to say, Sam needs convincing. Tony has to regroup with Pepper, convincing her it’s a good idea first before sending her in as the cavalry. That wonderful, amazing woman could talk a room full of CEOs into investing in a pile of dryer lint, and not fifteen minutes later Sam seeks him out on the common floor, agreeing to help the boys.

* * *

Tony finally returns alone to the kids’ floor for lunch, huge plate of food in hand to make up for their missed breakfast. 

They all perk up when he steps through. Peter stops snapping parts off an RC car in his lap and Ben and Kaine untangle themselves from a bunch of blankets by the window. They almost look… relieved? Surprised?

The boys eat ravenously. A pang of guilt forms in his chest, and he apologizes for not visiting yesterday or this morning. 

“You’re not mad at us?” Kaine asks. His shirt is too big, crooked on his skinny shoulders. His two smaller brothers have it worse, and it makes them all look younger than they are.

“No, of course not,” Tony assures them. “Don't get me wrong, what you guys did isn't going to get you a shiny gold star, but no one here blames you for reacting the way you did. You’re still learning.”

They don’t seem to buy it. Why would they, after the fuss Morse kicked up. Kaine asks, “What about your friend?”

“Who, Sam? No, he’s not angry either. You guys gave him a good scare, you know. We'll be laughing about it in a week,” he grins.

They worry at the edges of their clothes, cheeks pinking. Kaine whispers, “Can you tell him… we’re sorry?”

“Would you like to tell him yourself?”

The teens visibly recoil at the idea, eyes widening and shoulders curling. He assures them of their safety and that he’ll be right beside them when they meet. They study him for a few moments before Kaine nods his permission. They'll apologize in person.

The kids are quiet, which isn’t anything too out of the ordinary for them, but this silence seems more...contemplative. After finishing their meal they say _‘thank you’_ and go back to sit in a pile of blankets they’ve parked next to the window. They clearly want to be left alone, but Tony has a surprise waiting…

Predictably, the boys hear it before he does, scampering away from the glass to press themselves against the wall. A minute later, a pair of sneakers are scuffing at the top of the window as a man is lowered down over the side of the building. Ah, right on time.

The man descends in jerky, chopped motions, and the kids hiss and back away like frightened cats. But before he can reassure them, the teens suddenly freeze up. They turn to him to ask with nervous urgency,

“Friend?”

_Oh._ Voice weak with pleasant surprise, he croaks, “Er… Yeah. A friend.”

The tension immediately melts. The boys turn back around to quietly watch Steve slowly descend. It looks incredibly goofy, the historic supersoldier being lowered down inch by inch by a bright yellow window washer harness while holding a clear plastic birdfeeder. Steve cheerfully waves into the room, and Ben waves back. 

God, he hopes Morse is watching this right now. The boys are calm, curious even. Model-fucking-citizens!

“What’s that in Steve’s hand?” Ben says, taking a few steps forward. 

“It’s a birdfeeder, he’s going to stick it to your window so you can have something nice to look at. It’s a gift for you guys.”

Ben investigates first. He goes right up to the glass and crawls right up to be face to face with Steve. Peter is next, walking up next to his brother, but he’s more interested in the feeder in the supersoldier’s delicate grip. Steve smiles brightly at both boys and continues working.

Kaine doesn’t approach. He takes only the few steps needed to maintain that invisible leash they have to each other, but no more. When Steve cups a hand around his face to peer in at him too, Kaine stiffens and takes a step back as though he’s been struck. 

“What is it, kiddo?” Tony’s question catches the two younger boys’ attention as well, and they look back at their brother.

Kaine shakes his head, clearing it. “Nothing. He’s just...he’s huge,” the boy quickly says. “Uhm... Looks small...down on track.”

His brothers narrow their eyes at him, suspicious, but their attention is redirected when Steve knocks on the glass. The supersoldier’s finished securing the birdfeeder to the window, and Steve cheerily mouths _‘watch this’_ to them. Cap springs away from the glass, swinging out and catching a bag of birdseed as it’s tossed to him from the roof. He lands back on the window with a _thunk_ , making Ben startle with a surprised noise. 

Ben retaliates with a playful _thunk_ of his own, pounding a fist against the glass.

* * *

Not long after Steve disappears, Mr. Stark prepares to leave as well. The spiders are quick to follow orders when Mr. Stark asks for their laundry basket to take with him.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Ben says as he wheels the basket closer to the man. And before he can enter the elevator, Kaine adds, “We’re sorry, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark stops, propping the elevator open with the basket. “I told you, you don’t have to apologize. And, uh, nix it with the ‘Mr. Stark’ stuff.”

Kaine tilts his head, “...Doctor Stark?”

The man flinches. “Uh, hard pass. Just call me Tony, kid.”

That sounds like a wildly unprofessional way to address the man who’s protecting and housing them while they're here. “Mr. Stark,” Peter affirms.

Mr. Stark’s mouth presses into a thin line. “Okay, sure. Fine,” he relents, then mumbles as the doors close, “Better than Doctor.”

They decide to sleep on the floor by the window tonight. Just in case, they make it look like the web-hammock’s occupied by piling pillows into the middle as decoys. They use one huge, fluffy blanket in the window corner to completely hide them, webbing it to the glass as a tent before pulling more blankets into their new sleeping spot. 

Like this, they can get closer to one another, and the blanket tent traps precious body heat. He and Ben struggle to find a comfortable position, eventually whining at Kaine to lay down already so they can use him as a pillow.

“Steve is the red-and-blue man,” Kaine suddenly says, and everyone freezes. “He’s Captain America.”

Ben scoffs, “What? No.” When Kaine doesn’t say ‘gotcha’, Ben nudges him. “No, that’s stupid.”

“Just think about it,” Kaine hisses. “Put Steve in that dumb blue suit.”

Ben huffs, but he looks away to chew his thumbnail. Peter thinks it over, and soon comes to the same, strange conclusion. 

Kaine must see his eyes widen, “You see? I knew something was off about him, just couldn’t see it from so far away.”

That makes another ‘hero’ Stark has in his home. Peter gulps, “What...what does that all mean, then?”

Kaine stares out the little porthole they made in the blankets that allows them to see out the window. “I think...this place must be more than just Mr. Stark’s home. It’s probably a safehouse for heroes or… something. It can’t be a coincidence that most of the people we’ve met here have turned out to be mutants in some way.”

“Are we in danger?” Peter reflexively asks, that familiar anxiety bubbling up in his chest.

Ben shoves him, “No, Steve doesn’t set off our Sense. Whatever it is, Mr. Stark’s not lying about them being good guys, I think.”

Kaine nods, “And again, if he wanted to hurt us he’d have done so forever ago. He wouldn’t have fed us or clothed us or given us stuff if he was planning to kill us later. It’d be a waste of resources. Not to mention injuring himself while fighting off Morse.”

“Do you think Iron Man’s here too?” Peter asks. “Were all the mechs real people? Heroes?”

Kaine shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably. But if Iron Man is here… I think Mr. Stark’s telling the truth about him being good.”

Peter balks at the idea. “Iron Man took us from home… he can’t be _all_ good. And Steve too, he was the one who hurt Connors and made him transform!”

Kaine shrugs again, staring off to the side. He drops his voice to barely a whisper, “I don’t know, Pete... Maybe they had their reasons.”

Peter and Ben just stare at their brother. Kaine doesn’t meet their gazes.

The eldest spider swallows, “Anyways, we… we shouldn’t get attached to the people here. If the Doctors come back we may have to fight our way out.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Ben admits, “I like Bruce a lot, though… Can he come with us?”

Kaine snorts, and a smile spreads across his face. He cuffs Ben over the head before pouncing on them, wrestling his little brothers into the blankets. He breathes into their hair, “Yeah, Bruce can come with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: Tony starts to take a new interest in finding Warren, and the kids meet (or properly meet) a few new people, including a certain little girl...
> 
> Thanks for the continued support! I appreciate every kudos and comment!! 
> 
> Hope everyone's staying healthy!


	21. princesses in the tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids are introduced (or re-introduced) to new people, Tony panics, and Morgan just wants to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairly short chapter this week, i'm still working on my abstract for SVP and it's killing me
> 
> Next chapters should make up for it because I made myself tear up. but that may be because I was pretty drunk while writing them, lol. who knows. 
> 
> Hope everyone's staying healthy!

“So… Mutant?”

Tony leans on the marble counter as he waits for the panini press to heat up. Across from him on a barstool, Bobbi looks up from her laptop. She blinks at him, her stone-faced, unamused expression never wavering.

“Inhuman?” He guesses. “No wait, mutate?”

“The triplets know Rogers is Captain America,” she interrupts, returning to her work.

“Space ali -- wait, _what?”_ Tony jolts. “How?”

“They’re smart kids, Stark. It wasn’t hard for them to figure it out,” she dismisses. “You should probably consider telling them you’re the mighty Iron Man before they put those pieces together too.”

Tony reels. “Uh, no. I can’t. They’ve had _nightmares_ about me. Hell, they could have Iron Man-induced PTSD, I don’t know.”

“All the more reason to tell them now rather than later.”

Tony shakes his head. “How’d you find this out?”

“They slept next to the window last night, helpfully in the corner that’s right below the camera. They took the revelation pretty well, actually.”

“Oh. Uh, great. Perfect! Steve'll be happy to hear that.” The panini press beeps, and he prepares a sloppily made breakfast for both Morgan and the boys. “So... back to the important topic. Mutate or mutant?”

Morse shuts her laptop. “Natasha and I are chasing a lead on Warren today. Just a short trip to a Roxxon plant in Jersey. You want to come with?”

Tony makes a face at her for interrupting him again. “Seriously? Are you really not going to tell me?”

“You want to come or not, Stark?”

Tony flips a panini. Flushing out Warren sounds nice. He can always grill her on the trip over.

He gets no such chance. Once reaching the Roxxon building, Morse immediately splits off from the group, kicking down metal doors in her wake while he and Natasha hang around outside in a gravel lot, waiting on Morse to finish roughing up a few persons of interest. It’s easily the most boring mission he’s ever been on. At least the poor forklift workers that roll by them will have an interesting story to tell.

“So, uh... Morse,” Tony starts, turning to Natasha. “How’d she get enhanced?”

“It's rude to ask about a lady's genetics, Tony,” Natasha answers, leaning against the building. 

“Oh, c’mon. I know you know, Clint said you used to be close when you were working at HQ. Tell me, Avenger to Avenger. Why does SHIELD have an enhanced agent? I thought Steve was the last SHIELD-contracted supersoldier.”

Natasha shrugs, “SHIELD takes in people of all backgrounds and of all pasts. Bobbi’s no different.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, though.”

Black Widow sighs. “I don’t know the details of how she became enhanced. All that information would be somewhere in SHIELD’s records. What I do know, is that she wasn’t born like that.”

Mutate, then. Well, that doesn’t help him much. And neither does the mission, the supervisor Morse pushes around ends up not knowing where Warren is. 

* * *

Sam’s re-introduction goes swimmingly. The boys radiate anxiety when Sam first steps out of the elevator, but the smell of what he brought gets them to detach from each other and crawl out of their little blanket fort. Chocolate cake!

Sam’s smiles brightly as he shows off the yummy peace treaty in his hands. “Hey, we got off on the wrong foot. No hard feelings?”

The teens fidget in place, confused and wary about why dessert and kindness is Sam’s go-to response to their attack. Sam would later point out that the boys looked to him multiple times for reassurance, a clear sign of bonding, before they finally gathered the courage to approach.

Kaine half-crawls to a stop right at Sam’s feet. The eldest kneels and bows his head, his brothers creeping up beside him to mirror his supplicating posture.

“We’re sorry,” Kaine apologizes into the floor. “Thank you for your mercy.”

Unnerved, both he and Sam tell them to quit it with the bowing and just eat the cake. The spiderkids gladly do as told, digging in with excited fervor. It’s still warm, and their delight is palpable as the dessert melts in their mouths.

“We were thinking, kiddos, that Sam could have little chats with you every now and then. He’s a therapist, he could help you walk through…” He makes a complicated gesture, “... _whatever_ with you.”

Ben licks chocolate off his thumb, “Chats about what?”

“Just simple things,” Sam explains, posture open and welcoming. “We could talk about your experiences, or maybe just how you’re feeling? Anything you want.”

The kids are less than enthralled with the idea, but they don’t really have a choice. Tony needs them emotionally healthy and adoptable in little under five months or SHIELD will become their forever home. He sighs in relief when the kids reluctantly agree.

With Sam’s reintroduction out of the way, Tony’s attention for the next few days is split between finding Warren, spending time with Pepper and Morgan, and the spiderboys themselves. Stretched thin, he’s able to make it to their floor only once a day most of the time, relying on Bruce and Sam to pick up the slack. 

Their first few sorta-therapy sessions go less than ideal, as expected. The kids have little interest in engaging with Sam’s questions and give only basic responses when they answer.

“How are we feeling today?”

Ben lies on his back, toying with a broken RC car. “Fine.” Tony cringes when he rips the axle from the body as easy as tearing paper.

“What makes you feel fine?”

Ben shrugs, rolling over to mess with Peter’s face. Peter huffs and bats at his brother’s hands, but doesn't move away.

“What’s your favorite thing about your brothers?”

Ben's face cracks out into a genuine smile. “...They’re stupid." He yelps when Peter reaches up to grab a handful of the youngest’s blond hair, wrestling him so that he’s pinned under the older boy. God, their hair is getting long, curling around their ears and flopping into their faces. Kaine's is even a little past his shoulders now. He needs to figure out how to get them all haircuts soon.

“That’s not very nice,” Sam chuckles. “...What about the Doctors? What’s your favorite thing about them?”

“Smart,” Is Ben’s immediate, chirpy reply, slightly wheezy from under Peter’s weight. “They made us!”

Tony’s mouth presses into a thin line, but Sam is unshaken. He professionally continues, “Oh yeah? Do you miss them?”

On top of his brother, Peter spins around to frown at the adults in the hallway. Ben wheezes out, “Yeah-huh.”

“Do you think they miss you?”

Peter’s lip curls, and he fists his hands in Ben’s shirt. Ben flips their positions with relative ease, defusing the situation. “Stupid question,” the youngest says before they wordlessly disappear into the blanket fort they’ve made against the window to nap, ending the session.

Another session, in the gym this time, is much the same. Sam’s essentially flat-out ignored, the boys finding running around more enjoyable than conversation. Falcon takes it all in stride, explaining that watching how they interact with each other and their environment can give just as useful information. 

“How well do they react to affection from others? To like, hugs and stuff?” Sam asks, sitting by the wall as they watch the boys explore the ceiling. 

“No idea. Won’t let anyone near enough to find out,” Tony answers. 

Sam hums thoughtfully. “What about verbal affection?”

“Huh?”

“You know, have you told them you love them, that they’re doing a good job, encouraging them, whatever?”

“Er...I think I have?” Tony racks his brain. “Bruce, I’ve told them sappy stuff before, right?”

Bruce see-saws a hand. _“Ehhh…”_

Tony looks to the kids webbing a tightrope near the ceiling. “No, I have. I have. Hell, I tell people all the time that they’re good kids.”

Sam quirks up an eyebrow. “Have you said that to _them_ , though?”

“I…” Tony watches one of the kids swing around the tightrope like a trapeze artist, the other two hanging like bats on either side. Something constricts in his chest. _He’s never told them that they’re loved._ “Huh… I guess we’ll just have to fix that, then.”

* * *

“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me.”

Tony stops pacing, leveling a tormented look at Pepper on the bed. “No, you don’t understand. How did I just -- just _forget_ to say something like that? Forget to tell them that there are people who love them, _really_ love them, all this time?”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “Tony, I’ve known you for close to two decades now. You’re not the most verbally affectionate person in the world. Hell, it took maybe six months of dating for you to finally say ‘I love you’ to me.”

Tony fists his hands in his hair. “God, what if they just see me as a new captor? Like I’m the _cool uncle_ of the fucking _Doctors_ that raised them.”

Pepper rests her hands on his shoulders. “I’m sure they don’t see you like that. You’ve shown you care in other ways.”

“But not in the way that truly matters, not in the way that they _need_.” Howard always thought he was showing love when he bought Tony new cars or paid for his education, what Tony would have given to hear that man say 'I love you' just once!

The redhead sighs and rubs his shoulders, trying to calm him down. “Here, if it’s eating away at you so much, why don’t we go tell them now?”

“We?”

“You said you wanted me to meet them, right?”

“Well, yeah, but…” 

“Ah-ah, no buts,” she shushes him. “I even have the perfect gift.” She wanders over to the walk-in closet and pulls out a massive heated blanket that they like to use during the winter months. “Bruce told me that they run cooler than most, and you’ve said they had a heat lamp at their old home and that they’re always cuddling up to each other, correct? They’re probably cold pretty often.”

“Pep…”

“You’re going to be thinking about it all night, so why not?” She makes her way to the hallway, her shoes clicking on the tile. “C’mon, let’s go talk feelings with the boys.”

Worn out from the gym, the kids are half-asleep when they arrive on their floor. The air smells like citrus and coconut, a sign that the kids have showered and are preparing to settle down for the night. Pepper and Tony find them hidden in a pile of cleaned, dryer-warm bedsheets that were delivered with their dinner earlier. They’ve turned the pile into a nest, one fluffy duvet concealing them on a mound of blankets like a spiderboy pie. Ben and Kaine are partially visible, but Peter is completely hidden under the blanket, only his feet are left poking out of the mound. Asleep. The two awake kids seem confused at their sudden appearance, sleepy eyes laser-focused on the stranger. 

“Hello...” Kaine greets. 

“Hello, cutie,” Pepper says. She walks closer to the webline and crouches down, adjusting the heated blanket on her knees. Kaine and Ben burrow back into the mound like turtles retreating into their shells. “Ah, nonono, it’s okay. My name’s Pepper, I’m Tony’s wife. Sorry if we’re disturbing your sleep, we’ve got some gifts for you.”

“Okay…”

Pepper waves Tony over and he shuffles over to crouch beside his wife. She adjusts the blanket on her lap, holding it up a little bit for them.

“This is a heated blanket, you can plug it in and control it with this remote, and it’ll keep you warm,” Pepper explains in the same soft tone she uses with Morgan. Pepper plugs it into the wall for them, and Kaine carefully replaces the duvet with it. As he’s doing so, Peter is revealed, fast asleep in a tight ball. The teen grimaces as the duvet’s lifted away, but Kaine runs a hand through his younger sibling’s hair and Peter relaxes again with a soft, sleepy noise.

As soon as they’re settled, Pepper cranks up the heat to her recommended setting. The teens positively _melt,_ snuggling into the warmth with a deep sigh. Pepper smiles victoriously. 

“Thank you,” Ben yawns out. 

Pepper sends him a _look_ , and Tony clears his throat. His hands fiddle with some of Morgan’s pictures, some declaring ‘Welcome to my home!’ or ‘Happy ur not in a cage anymore!’ and the rest just colorful doodles of various, indecipherable things. “Uh, kids… You know people care about you, right?” Pepper elbows him in the ribs. “ _We_ care about you,” he amends.

Ben cracks an eye open at him, half-asleep on the nest, and Kaine stares blankly up at him. The kids don’t say anything, don’t react to the words. He wonders if they even hold any meaning to them. 

“I just… want you to know you’re loved. Everyone in this building cares about you. We love that you’re here with us at the Compound so you can experience all this gross mushy stuff for yourself, finally.”

He fans out the pictures in his hands. “Our, uh, daughter also wants you to know that we care about you, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d tell Peter the same when he wakes up.” He lays the pictures out in front of the nest for them to see. 

With an unreadable look, Kaine paws at one that says 'Yay! No more cages!' a bit before checking on Ben. Said brother’s asleep, only the top of his blond head poking out of the mound. After watching the heated blanket rise and fall a few times, Kaine shyly holds his hand out towards Pepper, averting his gaze down to the side.

Pepper’s perfect eyebrows arch upwards, and she gently takes the kid’s hand to rub her thumb over bony knuckles. “Is this okay?”

Kaine nods, still not looking at them.

She rubs circles into his hand for a bit, much like Tony did with an upset Peter all those weeks ago, before she brings his hand up to kiss it. He suddenly yanks it away, startled.

“Were you -- were you going to bite me..?”

Pepper has to suppress a laugh, and the teen’s cheeks pink in embarrassment. “No, sweetie. I was trying to kiss you.”

“Oh...” He slowly offers his hand again, holding her at a distance as she plants a kiss on the back of it. He cradles his kissed hand against his chest. “...Thank you.”

On the elevator ride down, Pepper turns to him, her voice incredibly serious. _“Tony_. Someone was going to sell those kids?!”

“Yeah, I know ri --”

She makes a closed-mouth scream, “He didn’t know what a kiss was! Oh my god.” She drags a hand through her hair. “Oh my god.”

“Under their spell now, aren’t you?”

“Tony,” she grabs his shoulders, and he grins amused. “You...are going to do everything in your power...to help those boys.”

* * *

Peter wakes up to glorious warmth. Heavenly warmth. Oh lord, whoever put the blankets under the heatlamp before lights out can gladly get first pick of the breakfast tray.

Kaine’s foot kicks him in the face. _Ow._ He shoves his brother’s legs away because no way, he’s not getting up. Too warm. He lazily stretches, inadvertently doing the same thing to Kaine. Huh, this hidebox is...big. He hasn’t been able to stretch out completely in one since he was six.

Wait...

He sits up, the oddly warm blanket slipping onto his lap. Oh right, Compound. He fluffs a hand through his bedhead. 

Kaine groans, blinking his eyes open. “‘Ey, Pete,” he greets sleepily.

He takes in the blanket nest they’re buried in and finds that the duvet is off to the side, replaced with an unfamiliar dark gray, warm blanket. “Where’d this come from?”

“It’s a heated blanket, Mr. Stark’s wife gave it to us. She’s really nice,” Kaine says, rolling over to squish a sleeping Ben. “He says he wants us to feel loved.”

Peter’s mouth purses. He leans forward, spying colorful pieces of paper close to the webline. “What are those?”

“I dunno. Pictures his daughter made for us.”

“Oh. Neat.” 

Shadowed by Bruce, Pepper is the one who swings by for breakfast, dropping off a whole plate of french toast. Peter decidedly likes Pepper. She smells sweet, like strawberries, unlike Mr. Stark’s odd scent of burnt metal and woody cologne. The two adults don't stay very long, but right before they leave Pepper offers her hand to them from across the line, more specifically to Kaine. The eldest’s face heats up and he quickly ushers them away to the couch, refusing to talk about it.

Mr. Stark skipping meals is something that’s becoming horribly common since their big mistake, and despite Bruce and Pepper’s insistence of the opposite they can’t help but worry that Mr. Stark was lying when he said he wasn’t angry and is punishing them accordingly. But this punishment isn't really punishment, right? The spiders are used to being left to their own devices for hours on end, constant attention is something they aren’t familiar with. Shouldn’t _get_ familiar with, his brain reminds him. 

Everyone's too busy with other things to come back for lunch, so they spend that time lounging around like couch potatoes and eating the fresh snacks Bruce left during breakfast to tide them over to dinner. Lots of granola bars labeled 'Clint' and dried fruit snacks for someone named 'Natasha' sit torn open on the coffee table.

Chewing on dried mango slices, Peter's absently watching the birdfeeder from the couch when he when he hears a door open. It’s not the _whoosh_ of the elevator, it’s a distinct, reverberating _click-creeeak_. The emergency staircase! 

The spiders all immediately sit up, scrambling to peek over the couch. Kaine is between them a second later, squeezing down on both he and Ben’s forearms in silent warning. Peter shoots the eldest an annoyed glare. _We know, we’ve learned our lesson, stupid!_

“Hellooooo?” A high-pitched, tiny voice calls from the hallway. The emergency staircase clacks shut, and small shoes scuff down the hall to a stop at their webline. It’s…It's a little girl. A kid. She has a plastic knight helmet on and a handful of dolls clutched in one hand. Peter's eyebrows scrunch in confusion, and he strains to hear if an adult is in the hallway too, but hears nothing but the little kid's heartbeat and their own.

The little girl squeals in delight when she sees the pictures laid out on the floor at the edge of the webline. She excitedly picks one up, and when she scans the rest of the living room, big brown eyes lock on to three spiders peeking up over the back of the couch at her. 

The little girl screams, “There you are!” And runs at them in a full-sprint over the line.

With a less than dignified shriek, Peter and his brothers leap off the couch. She delights in the chase, pursuing them as they flee around the coffee table and into a corner. Wielding her dolls like a weapon, she points them at the cornered spiders. A doll’s sharp, narrow legs jab at Peter’s upper belly. 

Holding her knight helmet up with her free hand so she can see out of it, she demands, “Which one of you’s Peter?” 

_Huh?_

His brothers must look to him in shock because before he knows it, the little girl kicks him in the shin with everything she’s got. It leaves him more confused than hurt. “...Ow?”

“That was for hitting my dad in the face,” she puffs. Then her whole attitude does a one-eighty, and the little girl thrusts out her free hand for them to shake. “Hi! I’m Morgan!”

“Uhh…” Peter doesn’t move to touch her. This must be Mr. Stark’s kid, like how Dr. Connors has Billy. So where's Mr. Stark?

Unfazed by the nonresponse, Morgan starts wandering around their room. She checks out the bits of broken toys, pillows, puzzles and snack wrappers scattered everywhere. 

“Whoaaaa,” she picks up a mangled piece of RC car, the steel chassis bent around almost like a pretzel. 

“Hey, _mine,_ ” Ben stalks over and yanks it out of her grip.

She skips over to the blanket tent by the window. “This is so cool! I can see Happy’s car from in here!” She disappears into it, and Peter hurries over to stop her from messing anything up. Peter pokes his head into the tent intending to pull her out by the blankets lining the bottom, but startles when she whaps him on the nose with the dolls. He hisses at her, flashing his teeth.

“You guys are weird,” she comments, pushing past Peter and scurrying to the kitchen. “And you’re eating all my food!” She rummages through their newly repaired cabinets and holds up a box of donuts as proof, pointing to the sharpied ‘Morgan’ on the side of it.

The spiders are at a complete loss. She’s picking up their stuff, moving it around, trying to come over and touch them -- Peter feels overwhelmed.

“Just… ah…” Kaine climbs the wall behind Morgan and reaches to lift her up by the back of her shirt. Morgan giggles uncontrollably as Kaine swiftly carries her across the room to deposit her on the appropriate side of the webline. “Stay,” he orders.

She doesn’t stay. Morgan immediately wanders back over and approaches Ben. “My mom told me a lot about you guys. I’m sorry you lived in a cage.” The little girl tries to hug him, but Ben puts a hand to her helmet and easily keeps her away with one arm. “Heyyy!”

Ben picks her up by the armpits and repeats the process. She still doesn’t stay. Morgan hops back over the webline, tangling herself in the blond’s legs with a happy giggle. The youngest makes a confused whine and struggles to move without hurting the girl wrapped around his knees.

Kaine gently pulls her off of Ben by the back of her pink shirt. “Karen? Can you call Mr. Stark?”

“No!” Morgan shouts, thrashing and pulling herself free. “Friday!”

A different robotic voice echoes from the ceiling with an odd accent. _“I’m sorry, I’m currently operating under the Queen of the Castle protocol. Miss Morgan has requested this meeting be top secret.”_

“That means no telling! I’m the queen of knights and you guys are the princesses locked in the tower. S’why I have my armor on.” She bonks the side of her plastic knight helmet. “Do you want to play princesses with me?”

She doesn’t give them much of a choice. Thankfully, they don’t have to do much. Morgan pretty much plays around them, pretending to sneak into an evil castle and get them out before the dragon finds out they’re gone. They’re not interactive playmates, it’s infinitely more funny to go limp and watch Morgan struggle to haul them to ‘safety’ than play along. 

“C’monnn!” She pulls with all her might, trying to drag Peter by the hands across the room while his brothers look on, perplexed. “You’re gonna be dragon kibble, Princess!” 

After a few futile minutes of huffing and puffing, she drops Peter and kicks him in the ribs. In return, he growls and plucks the stupid helmet off her head and tosses it to Ben, who throws it to Kaine and then back to Peter. Morgan shouts in indignation, but manages to steal it back when she suddenly runs at Kaine, scaring him into dropping the thing. 

Tired of their uncooperation as princesses, she moves on to showing them her dolls. Peter lays on his side and Kaine reclines on the couch behind him, both inattentively watching Ben humor the little girl on the floor. 

“This one’s Missy. She’s a zookeeper. She lost her arm because of an unfortunate polar bear accident,” she points to where one of the doll’s stick-like arms is replaced by a bulky robotic one. “They weren’t able to reattach... But they gave her a metal arm instead and now she can pet any animal she wants, anytime she wants! You wanna see her?”

Morgan practically shoves the doll into Ben's hands and starts to excitedly talk about the next one. After a moment of inspecting the odd toy, the youngest spider squints at its egg-shaped head and forces his blunt thumbnail under the chin of the doll.

_Pop!_

Morgan gasps as Missy the bionic zookeeper’s head pops off her body and clatters to the floor. She scrambles to pick it up, brushing back curly red faux hair. Peter’s Sense prickles at the back of his skull, strange, but he reaches over to admire the headless doll with a curious noise. Morgan's fallen silent, staring into the painted eyes of her toy. 

Satisfied with the decapitation, Ben works at the clothing next. Morgan snaps out of her trance when she hears Missy’s explorer shorts start to tear. “Stop! Stop it!”

Frowning, Ben keeps the toy out of her reach, but Morgan pounces on him. “Stop! Give her back!” She shoves him hard in the chest and climbs over him, snatching away the headless toy to clutch it close to her chest. “Why would you do that?!”

Morgan tries to force the head of the doll back onto the body, but it won’t fit. She starts to sniffle, her lip wobbling dangerously. 

The spiders look at each other, concerned and confused. Timidly, Ben reaches out to take the toy back, maybe to help fix whatever he hurt, but Morgan snaps at him, her face beet-red.

“Don’t touch her! You - You - _You broke her!”_ She suddenly hits Ben, sending him scuttling back. “You’re _mean!”_

Peter sits up, alarmed by the sudden tears streaking down Morgan’s face. The sight makes something in his stomach twist. Missy’s severed head rolls out of Morgan’s tight fist and Peter swiftly picks it up, but Morgan rounds on him as well. “Stop! Stop touching her!” She rips the piece of plastic out of his hands, cradling the broken doll in her arms like a baby. 

Ben crawls toward her, “I’m…”

“I don’t want to play anymore,” she tells them through watery breaths. “I don’t want to play with you.”

Then she’s gone. Morgan sprints to the emergency staircase and the door slams shut with an echoing finality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (You can bet that Morgan definitely runs straight to Tony and Pepper to complain about why they can't just put the spiderboys back where they found 'em. Missy would later recover from her injuries after a lot of TLC and Tony gluing her head back on.)
> 
> Also all I could think about when writing Morgan's and the boys first interaction is this video of three lions being very confused by a very bold mongoose lololol (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hSLJDne4hTk)
> 
> Next chapter: Meeting more new people, everyone gets called a 'sweetheart', and the boys express their confusion and frustration with some chaotic art therapy.
> 
> Kudos, comments, and questions always appreciated!! Love you all!


	22. no more cages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spiderboys are confused, angry, and Sam employs a little art therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope this chapter's not too all over the place! A few days late too, but I brought gifts! There are 2 (TWO!) pieces of art at the end of this chapter (if you consider my scribbly art a gift anyways lol...), and there should be a third to go with the next one.
> 
> Thanks for all the support so far! I hope everyone's staying safe!

“I don’t understand it,” Ben pouts, inspecting an indecipherable picture of a bird-shaped blob on a small paper heart. “Why’d she go crazy? It was just a toy.”

Peter flops back on the floor, arms reaching up to grab at a half-broken Rubik’s cube. “I dunno. It was broken already, I don’t see what the big deal was.” Peter juggles the mangled puzzle. “I mean, it’s not like you twisted it in half, right?”

“That would have looked cool, though.”

“Mm-hmm.” 

Morgan was serious about the ‘no telling’ thing, apparently, because Mr. Stark made no mention of it to them during dinner last night. And unable to shake the feeling that what they had done was wrong, they decide to keep Morgan’s visit a secret as well. Who knows what Mr. Stark would do if he found out they made his daughter cry. 

Kaine shuffles through Morgan’s art. “We probably should have asked permission.”

“But she gave it to me,” Ben argues. 

“Still,” Kaine shrugs. The eldest spider webs a spot on the hallway wall and sticks one of Morgan’s pictures to it.

It’s a colorful picture of them, holding hands under a rainbow in a field of grass and too-big flowers. Scrawled across the top is ‘Yay! No more cages!’, and far in the background is a gray cartoonish cell, hanging open like they’d just escaped. 

(They were _chased out_ , they never escaped, he reminds himself.) 

Kaine webs another one to the wall. Peter and Ben raise an eyebrow at their older brother. Kaine shrugs. “I like them,” he offers as explanation.

Pepper and Mr. Stark come by for breakfast. Today it’s a whole six-pack of strawberry yogurt and a plate of fruit, very tasty. Both adults marvel at their impromptu art gallery on the wall, and Pepper looks like she’s about to cry.

Mr. Stark talks differently to them now, he's more pushy about wanting to know how they're feeling and whatnot. How many times does Peter have to tell him ‘fine’ before it sticks? He also says ‘good job’ more often, praising them for finishing their meal without making a mess and for spot-cleaning around the living room when asked. 

Pepper uses odd words, though. She calls them ‘sweetheart’ and tells them how handsome they look today. It makes Ben blush up a storm, something Peter immediately pokes fun at when the adults eventually leave.

Later, while they’re chasing birds away from the birdfeeder, they notice that Morgan’s outside. She’s sprinting to the track with Mr. Stark, Steve, Sam, and the arrow guy in tow after her. It looks like Mr. Stark is trying to herd her back out of their window’s line of sight at first, but after a short talk with Sam he lets her play in view of them. 

The spiders watch as Morgan runs the adults ragged like she was doing to them only a day ago. She draws pictures with chalk, plays hopscotch, and plays with dolls. 

The adults occasionally glance up at them, and the spiders like seeing their faces light up when they scale the glass. Climbing the glass back home always attracted attention, both good and bad. Being scolded for putting handprints on the observation window was always canceled out by the reactions they got, especially from newer staff. But new staff eventually became regular staff, so it feels good to have people marvel at them again.

At some point when all the adults are distracted, Morgan turns to look right at them. Ben gives the little girl a sheepish wave.

Morgan sticks her tongue out at him.

* * *

Sometime later it’s their turn to go outside.

They first have lunch in the gym with Sam and Bruce. Which is fine, if it weren’t for all the questions Sam asks. Always focused on feelings and thoughts or other useless things like how the Hill lady was back at SHIELD.

‘How are you feeling today?’ ‘How do you feel about the Compound?’ ‘Is it better than your old home?’ ‘No? Why is that?’ Question after question after question!

As soon as Mr. Stark helps them into their harnesses, Peter wastes no time faceplanting into the grass.

“Dr. Connors _pleasepleaseplease_ come soon,” he begs quietly into the cool blades.

Sam squats down, apparently hearing his plea. He smiles, reveling in all the suffering he’s causing. “Oh? Can you tell me about that, kid?”

Peter screams into the earth.

Bruce gently leads them to the field outside their window, the place with the track. Peter doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feeling of grass beneath his feet, and he wishes he’d be allowed to take off across the training field, unhindered by a harness and a well-meaning giant. 

They’re so busy exploring this new patch of lawn that they don’t notice that Mr. Stark’s joined by two new people. Steve and the arrow guy. Soon, Sam comes over to ask if it’s okay for them to approach.

Like most introductions, the two adults bring presents with them -- grape juice and some cheese sticks. Tasty.

Sipping on juice in the protective shadow of Bruce, Kaine focuses his attention on the arrow guy, Clint, and asks point-blank, “Hero?”

Clint’s scruffy face breaks out in a huge grin. “Yeah, I’m a hero. Name’s Hawkeye.” He crouches down to give them a handshake. 

Kaine takes it, hesitantly. “Spiders,” they greet.

Clint talks and talks and talks about everything from his own kids and to how hard he laughed when they strung up Mr. Stark by his feet all those days ago. Steve hangs back, silent like a friendly ghost, and the spiders can’t help but drift from Clint’s incessant one-sided conversation and analyze the mech-turned-man. 

At some point Steve steps forward to introduce himself, kneeling on the grass to be eye-level with the spiders. Bruce shuffles forward a bit, nervously coiling the leads around his hands as Peter and his brothers inch towards Captain America. 

They can’t pin him down and interrogate him for answers, that’d be like ringing a dinnerbell for Morse. What if they tried something different? Morse wanted them to...ask questions. Like normal boys. 

“You were there. At the invasion,” Kaine starts, eyes narrowed. “We saw you attacking Doctor Connors.”

Steve is unshaken, keeping his composure despite the spiders’ tense body language. “I was,” he simply says. “You were in the vents, weren’t you? You guys were very brave.” The blond flashes a bright smile, “Still are.” 

Taken off-guard by the compliment, Kaine sits back on his heels. “Was Connors... coming to get us? When you found him?”

Steve’s smile turns sympathetic. “I don’t know. He was smashing things left and right when I stumbled across him. Didn’t exactly seem to be packing three suitcases,” the man chuckles.

The spiders don’t laugh. Steve winces, “Sorry.”

Peter scratches at an itchy spot underneath his harness. Doctor Connors wasn’t…?

Ben asks, “Is Connors okay?” 

“Arrested, yes, but okay.”

Peter’s heart breaks further. Arrested. That means… He _can’t_ come for them. “What about Doctor Warren? Is he arrested too?”

Steve rubs his neck. “Well, not yet, but we’re working on it.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Although he’d much rather it be Connors, Warren will do. He can still come. He will. He has to.

Right?

Peter flinches away when Steve tries to put a hand on his shoulder. “You guys have big hearts to care about the people who hurt you for so long,” he says.

“We weren’t abused,” Peter argues. “I don’t care what Sam says, we weren’t treated badly.”

Steve nods, though it's more of a placating gesture than actual agreement. An awkward silence passes, even Clint is quiet, before the hero breaks the silence again. 

“You like it outside, son?”

“Well, yeah…” Peter combs his fingers through the grass and feels his black harness warm in the sunlight. The afternoon breeze fluffs his hair back and forth, smelling faintly of pine. 

“Good, I’m glad.” Steve stands. “You want to go for a run with me?”

Pavement feels much worse under his feet than grass or tile. Little bits of rock dig into his soles as their leads are transferred to Steve, giving Bruce a much needed break. The rest of the adults are gathered by the soccer goal to watch Steve and Clint jog them around the track. 

It’s incredibly strange, running alongside a living replica of the red-and-blue mech. He moves the same, acts the same, but doesn’t have that constant scowl on his face or that oil-spill smell that all mechs had after years of continuous repairs. His features are soft, kind, and it makes Peter more inclined to believe that he really is a good man. A hero.

Clint taps out at around lap twenty, and Steve quickly discovers they can outrun him in both distance and endurance, something the spiders already knew, but it doesn’t keep Peter from preening inwardly when he sees Steve struggle to keep up. On lap one hundred Steve’s practically being pulled along like a dogwalker trying to control three excited wolfhounds. 

When they eventually go back inside, Steve transfers their leads back over to Bruce with a heartfelt _‘your poor shoulders, Banner!’_.

Mr. Stark unfastens their harnesses in the lobby. “Hey, good thing hero-ing has great health insurance, right?” He ruffles Ben’s hair as he finishes, earning a clipped growl from the youngest. 

As they're waiting for someone to lead them back to the elevators, Kaine nudges him and draws his attention to something by a potted plant in the corner of the lobby. It’s a dollhouse and a pile of plastic animals, but before they can investigate further Mr. Stark appears out of nowhere behind them.

“Heyheyhey, no touchie,” he bats Ben’s shoulder, pushing him away from the dollhouse. The spiders obediently step back as Mr. Stark scoops up the forgotten playthings. “Morgan will blow up at me if I let you guys break any of her toys. Total meltdown city, not pretty. No thank you. I've already had to glue one doll back together after it got caught in the elevator door or something.”

The spiders exchange a guilty look. “They’re just toys,” Ben says. 

Mr. Stark struggles to hold an armful of plastic and stares at them like they’re idiots. “Well, _yeah_. But they’re important to her. You guys have toys upstairs, lemme take these back to Mo, alright?” He tips his head to Sam, “You mind taking them back up?”

They watch Mr. Stark stride away with Morgan’s toys as Sam pulls them away to the elevator.

* * *

Sam brings something new the next day. It’s only him and Mr. Stark on their floor; Pepper left a few minutes ago after bringing them lunch. (This time when Pepper called them handsome, all the spiders blushed.)

Mr. Stark hangs back while Sam squats down at the webline. “Here, can we do a little brain exercise today?” Sam hands them three sheets of paper. “Make a numbered list of your favorite person, place, or thing.”

They pick people. The spiders all have roughly the same list. Peter’s starts with Connors, then Warren, Pepper, Bruce, Mr. Stark, eventually ending with Morse and Fury. Easy-peasy.

Mr. Stark leans over Sam to peer at their work. He tsks, “Ooh, fifth place? I’m hurt.”

“Okay, good,” Sam praises. “Now write the reasons why beside their names.”

Again, easy. Connors and Warren gave them everything they needed for the past fourteen/fifteen years! Pepper gave them the heat blanket, Bruce is kind, Mr. Stark is keeping them safe and fed, and Morse and Fury want to separate them.

“I can’t help but notice that all three of you wrote ‘everything’ as your reason for both Connors and Warren. Can you expand on that?”

With an eye-roll, they list it out: _life, food, water, shelter, protection._

“What’s the difference in your minds between those two and Tony here, then? He’s giving you all that and more, don’t you agree?”

“Purpose,” Kaine answers after a beat. “We had a purpose with the Doctors. All we do here is just lay around and wait.”

Sam sits down in front of them, warm eyes unwavering. “Isn’t just being allowed to be yourself a purpose in it of itself?”

Confidence suddenly dashed, a troubled look passes over Kaine and he balls his hands in his sweatpants.

Sam continues, “Tony’s given you outside, actual toys, and company in addition to your basic needs. That has to count for something right? What do the Doctors have that Tony doesn't?”

Peter is over this conversation. With a snort, he turns his back to the adults and starts to work at a half of a RC car. Ben and Kaine do the same, and they all share the toy as they start to pick it apart. 

_Snap. Snap. Snap._

“Hey,” Sam calls their attention. “If you keep doing that you’re going to run out of car to play with.”

The spiders spit, “Only a toy.” What's everyone's deal with toys and breaking things?

_Snap._

“...Does breaking stuff make you feel good?” Sam cups a hand over his mouth, thinking. “You broke things all the time when you were in the lab, are you looking for praise of some sort?”

That gives Peter pause. Is he looking for praise? 

Sam has regained their full attention now, so he continues. “If you are, you should know that destroying things doesn’t earn you gold stars in the outside world, and it won’t get you anything from us. You can’t break things when you’re upset or bored. How do you think Tony feels when he sees you destroy the gifts he’s given you?”

“I… I dunno,” Ben mumbles. The Doctors gave them stuff for their room and didn't care if they ruined it, they had more important things to care about than the condition of blankets or rubber balls. What's a plastic car to a billionaire?

Sam waves Mr. Stark over and their protector clears his throat. “Uh, well… It certainly doesn’t feel great when you break all my presents. Pretty rude of you three, actually.” Sam motions for Mr. Stark to continue. "Uh, I know my dad would say you're being ungrateful, but --"

Ben slowly puts down the mangled car and no one picks it up again.

“Uhm. We’re sorry. We didn’t mean to seem ungrateful,” Ben quietly apologizes. "We're just strong."

Mr. Stark’s face softens. “Nah kid, let me finish. I never said I thought you were ungrateful. You're just trying to, I don't know, express yourself with a little mayhem. Nothing wrong with that." After a pointed look from Sam, he amends, "Okay, maybe there's a little bit wrong with that. I’ll get you some more toys, as long as you promise to not turn them immediately into mincemeat, okay?”

The spiders nod, and Sam seems satisfied. “Now back to your lists…”

**1st : Connors/Warren:** _life, food, water, protection, purpose_

 **5th : Stark:** _food, water, protection, outside, company, toys, purpose(?), play, attention_

It’s laid out in front of him, horribly painful in it’s honesty. But nothing Sam says gets any of them to change the ranking.

* * *

Despite the earlier conversation, the spiders take out their anger and confusion on the gym equipment. Kaine lays on the gym mat, thinking too hard like always while he and Ben tear apart a freshly bought punching bag. Sam had said that breaking things doesn’t get you praise, but Peter doesn’t want praise. Peter just wants to feel better.

Mr. Stark got called away after dinner, so Sam and Bruce are the ones watching over them like overworked nannies from the sidelines. 

After the first punching bag is but a pile of sand and scraps of fiber, Ben and Peter move onto the next one. Sam tsks and walks over.

“Hey, Tasmanian Devils, let’s lay off the stuff. I thought we just had a talk about this. Why don’t we redirect all this aggression somewhere different? Let me -- ”

“NO!” Peter screams, startling both adults. “I don’t like your ideas! I don’t like your questions! They make me -- _arghh!”_ Peter flops back on the gym mat with a frustrated hiss. 

“Your words hurt,” Peter whines, covering his face and curling towards Kaine. “They hurt somewhere inside.”

Sam backs off. “Okay, okay. I get it. It’s good that it hurts, that means you’re thinking. But busting up millions of dollars worth of gym equipment isn’t going to help. You’re sooner going to run out of punching bags than feel better, so let me try something, alright?”

Sam soon reappears with a huge roll of paper and a bunch of markers and paint. The paper stretches almost halfway across the room like a banner, and the art supplies so obviously come from Morgan that it makes Peter’s insides twist again.

“Here, put your frustrations into this." 

Outside of breaking mechs, they were never allowed to be messy. The Doctors frowned upon drawing pictures on the glass with the tic-tac-toe markers, and doodling on homework pages would earn you a smack upside the head. As he slides his paint-covered hands over the white sheet, Peter realizes it’s probably obvious that they’ve never been given a creative outlet before. And now that they’ve been offered one...Peter doesn’t know what to think. 

Their art is chaotic at first. Paint is thrown around, handprints and footprints are littered haphazardly across the paper banner, and lazy lines and squiggles are drawn with markers. 

Eventually they calm, and now covered in polka-dots of paint and marker, the spiders group up and start drawing pictures. They draw Connors, Warren, employees, mechs. They bicker over what their room looked like, and if they should use gray or leave the walls white and focus on the details. 

Then the subjects begin to shift. Kaine starts to draw flowers on another part of the canvas, soon followed by Peter drawing a big tree and Ben falling out of it. Ben doodles Peter eating bugs. The spiders draw sunsets, clouds, grass, and birds. By the end of it, Peter feels calm and...sort of hollow. Like he vomited everything onto the paper.

“Good job! How’re we feeling?” Sam stands over them, admiring their awful, messy work. Peter shrugs as he draws whiskers on Ben’s face.

“Can you tell me about this?” He points to their meticulous rendition of their room. It’s little more than a square with smaller squares inside it representing their hideboxes, with lines spiderwebbing all around for their ropes, and finally ledges and a big red spot where the heatlamp was. It’s one of the least colorful pictures on the entire banner, but the most detailed.

“It’s our room,” Ben smiles. “There’s the hideboxes where we slept, there’s the ropes, the heatlamp, the little door where food slid out…”

Something about looking at the grassy field and their room side by side _hurts_. Peter doesn’t realize he’s crying until he tastes paint on his lips, teartracks cutting gentle pathways through the smudges on his cheeks. Ben starts to cry when the adults prod about Connors, and Kaine’s eyes shine as he puts the finishing touches on the very last picture.

Clearing away his tears with an unpainted part of his arm, Peter crawls over to see. 

It’s a picture of them. They're standing on green grass under blue sky, holding hands. Like how Morgan had drawn them.

* * *

Tony arrives on the ground floor with Morgan in tow. He’d spent most of the evening watching Disney movies that he’d nearly fallen asleep to, it was only the text message from Sam that kept him from nodding off into dreamland.

_Boys have been sent upstairs for the night. Come help clean up gym._

The phrasing makes him nervous, but he rationalizes that it’s probably just torn gym mats or popped sportsballs again. He doesn’t expect the goddamn rainbow road that winds a colorful path from the elevators to the gym door. Morgan happily follows the trail, using the clear impressions of footprints as stepping stones.

“Did a Care Bear explode in here or something? Good lord, Sam, this place looks like a Pollock painting,” Tony gapes as he takes in the destruction. Morgan giggles and runs to help Bruce with the mop bucket. 

Sam holds out his hands. “Sorry man. Art therapy.”

“Art therapy?”

And that’s when he sees it. A banner a third of the size of the room is taped up to the gym wall, absolutely covered in paint. The art acts almost like a gradient, on the far left of the page is just a mishmash of handprints and splatters which slowly morph into depictions of the lab, Doctors, and mechs, and then finally trees and flowers on the far right.

“Whoaaa,” Morgan wanders over to admire the boys’ handiwork. “The kids upstairs did this?”

“Yup,” Tony answers, scooping up Morgan to ride on his shoulders. “Anything of note, Sam?”

“Uh, yeah, actually. If you look closely, the boys only drew pictures of themselves in the ‘outside’ portion of the paper,” he points to a few doodles of what looks like Peter eating a beetle and Kaine having a bird nest in his hair. “They never drew themselves in the ‘lab’ section. I think whether they realize it or not, they subconsciously don’t want to go back to their old life. They gave the lab portion the most detail out of all the images, but didn't picture themselves in it.”

Over the sloshing of the mop bucket, Bruce adds, “I think it was cathartic for them, the poor kids cried quite a bit towards the end.”

Morgan gasps, her hands fisting painfully in Tony’s hair, “They cried?”

Sam nods, “Mm-hmm. The boys are confused and frustrating themselves trying to rationalize their previous treatment with how they’re living now. They’re having trouble understanding how they feel. Sucks that they won't let us comfort them when they're upset.”

Morgan kicks Tony’s shoulders, ushering him closer. She runs a hand over the dried paint, musing, “No hugs...”

“No hugs,” Sam agrees. “We’ll get them there eventually. But in the meantime, I think I've made a breakthrough on how to redirect their antisocial tendencies...”

* * *

Washed and curled up in the heated blanket, Peter snuggles into Kaine’s side on the couch. They’re watching _Jaws_ , found after Ben flipped through various game show channels to find something different.

“Connors was arrested,” Peter murmurs. He leaves the more painful observation unsaid; _Connors wasn't coming to get us._

On the opposite side of Kaine, Ben leans over. “Doctor Warren can still come, though, right?”

“They want to arrest him too. He won’t be able to get near this place, he’s not enhanced like us or Connors,” Peter says. “He stands no chance against heroes.”

Ben draws his knees up closer to his chest and rests his head on Kaine's shoulder. “Maybe if we make a good case for him Mr. Stark’ll let him pick us up?”

Peter huffs, “Whatever we say won’t change their minds. They already think that we were abused.”

“Weren’t we though?”

Surprised, Peter and Ben blink up at Kaine. The screaming of the lady getting eaten by a shark fades into the background.

Kaine swallows, “I - I mean, this is different right? They treat us so differently here. The outside, the people, the - the - I don’t know.”

Peter shrugs under the warm blanket. “Sure, I guess. But isn’t abuse, like… starving someone and chaining them up and not giving them baths, like those commercials with the sad dogs?”

Kaine stares at the ceiling. “I… Maybe? I don’t know. I just -- I feel different here. Lighter. With Warren I’d always imagined there’d eventually be a _bad day_ and he’d decide to just ki--” the eldest suddenly chokes up.

Peter sits up on the couch, concerned. “Kaine?”

Kaine slings his arms around them and squeezes them closer, almost cutting off Peter’s air supply. His breath is hot against Peter’s hair. 

“I’m so, so glad I’m here with you guys,” he cries. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Peter feels tears prick at his eyes again, and he twists around in Kaine’s tight grip to hug him back, burying his nose in the crook of the eldest spider’s neck. He breathes in citrus and salt. “I love you too,” both younger spiders mumble back.

A tiny voice asks from the end of the couch, “Are you crying?”

The spiders startle, scrambling to the far end of the couch. Kaine wipes his face with the heated blanket. 

“Hi,” Morgan says. Her mournful expression is illuminated in the light of the television. “Were you guys crying?”

The spiders only sniffle in reply, and she looks sadder. “You know, whenever I’m upset, my mom holds me until it’s all out of my system. But you guys don’t have a mom.”

She hops up on the couch, crawling closer to them. “I’m sorry I yelled at you and ran away. And hit you.” Morgan sits on the cushions. “It must be hard, being outside. Why were you crying?”

The spiders settle down on the far cushions. Kaine sniffles and wipes his nose. “I don’t know. Just stuff.”

“I’m sorry I broke your toy,” Ben apologizes.

“That’s okay, I forgive you. Dad says you guys don't know any better.” She fumbles with her cat pajamas. “I liked your art downstairs. Can I sit with you?”

She crawls under the heat blanket and sandwiches herself between them. Morgan stays the rest of the movie, squealing at the gory parts and playing footsie with them. They try to be gentle as possible, this is Mr. Stark’s daughter after all, and as soon as the movie ends she panics and says she has to leave before Mr. Stark finds out, but not before she launches herself at Kaine.

Morgan wraps her arms around his neck in a crushing goodbye hug, her hands tangling in Kaine’s hair. 

“No more cages, okay?” she whispers.

Through a sudden, cracked sob, Kaine hesitantly rests his hands on her small back. He leans into the hug, “Yeah, no more cages.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Morgan makes her visits regular, sam's got some ideas, we get some fluffy bits, and Tony finds out about Morgan's secret playdates in the worst possible way
> 
> Here's a rough depiction of the boys' banner! obv not banner sized but 
> 
>   
>   
> and here's a scene that happened last chapter!  
> 
> 
> Thanks again for the support! Kudos/comments keep me going!!


	23. the dad instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan bonds with her new friends, the boys start to learn, and Tony panics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, this chapter (and the next one hoo boy!) was really fun to write, so I hope you like it! We're finally getting to fluffiness! 
> 
> Thanks so much for the support! I'm constantly amazed at all the love there is for a spiderboys fic like this since Ben and Kaine are such deep-cut marvel characters! (but I love them anyways <3 )

“Bang!”

Peter obediently flops forward. “Ahh, you got me,” he whines. “But my, uh... co-conspirators will be the end of you!” 

_Boom._ Morgan squeals when Ben and Kaine drop from the ceiling in a threatening crouch. She tries her best to shoot them with her plastic gun, but his brothers are too quick, rolling and ducking out of the way of pretend bullets. 

Over a few days of trial and error, Morgan found out that hunt-and-chase games hold their attention better than tea parties or stuffed animal courtroom dramas. So today she’s donned a cowboy hat, demanding they play “cops and robbers”. 

“Stand still banditos!” She chases Ben behind the couch and trips on a broken Rubik’s cube. Ben webs the back of her shirt so she doesn’t go sprawling onto the ground, but Morgan uses that opportunity to spin around. “Bang!”

“Bleghh,” Ben goes limp on the couch.

Kaine cries, “My brothers! You’ll pay with your blood for killing them!”

Morgan screams as Kaine chases her across the room, using the walls and ceiling to his advantage to scare her. She squeals when he grabs her around the waist and pins her to the ground, knocking the gun out of her hand. 

The teen pins her wrists against the floor. “You’re at my mercy, submit!”

_“Oww!”_

Kaine gasps and flinches away. “Sorry!”

She lays there, rubbing her wrists and not saying anything. Kaine timidly nudges her, “Morgan? Are you okay? Please don’t start crying...”

“Pshh, I’m not gonna cry. I’m not a baby,” she pouts. “You guys are really rough, though. I think my wrist is broken.”

The spiders’ faces flush in horror. _Mr. Stark will_ _kill them!_ Kaine rushes forward, gently cradling her arm in his hands. He panics, “Nonono, I didn’t -- I couldn’t have --” 

As Kaine’s crouched over her, Morgan swings the side of her other fist into his ribcage. “Stab.”

The eldest stops.

“Stab, stab,” she giggles.

“That’s a cheap move,” Kaine hisses, sitting back on his heels. “You never said you had a knife.”

“It’s pretend, dummy! I can do whatever I want!” Morgan sits up, adjusting her cowboy hat and rubbing her bruised arm. “And I _was_ hurt, I was only lying about the wrist part. You need to be more gentle, it’s only pretend.” 

The spiders nod earnestly. It’s not their fault that Morgan’s so small, so weak compared to them. Even the lightest touch seems to bruise.

She tries a tea party again, but the spiders struggle to see the point of paying for the air she pours into tiny porcelain cups or keeping their pinkies up when drinking said air. Morgan even scolds them for eating all the cookies she set out _for them!_

She eventually has to leave again when Karen warns her of Mr. Stark’s imminent arrival. Morgan’s very touchy-feely, something that the spiders have trouble with, and _very_ persistent when it comes to goodbye hugs. This time Ben is the one to bite the bullet, letting her crush his windpipe before Mr. Stark has the opportunity to walk in on them playing with his daughter without permission. 

As soon as she's gone, the spiders collapse on the heat blanket, utterly exhausted. They miss Tony’s look of surprised confusion when he finds the three of them fast asleep on the floor only minutes later.

In conjunction with Morgan’s daily secret visits, Sam and Mr. Stark have started doing new stuff to ‘help’ them over the week. 

Whenever the spiders get stressed over Sam’s questions and reach for a breakable object, Bruce snaps his fingers, takes it away and tosses them paper and markers. The first few times were met with protest, as the spiders naturally tried to retrieve their stolen objects, but eventually the correction becomes so annoyingly consistent that whenever they’re upset, Peter and his brothers find themselves automatically reaching for the art supplies. Most of their art is just lazy squiggles, but they’re praised for each page they fill anyway. It feels good, and their floor is less messy because of it.

Through this method, Sam’s able to get a lot more information out of them. They talk about the lab and the Doctors more openly, however pointed some of Sam’s questions are. 

“When the Doctors called you a defect, how did that make you feel?” Sam asks, crouched by the webline. Mr. Stark hovers just behind him, and Bruce is sitting beside the spiders, overseeing their artwork.

“It...It made me scared, I guess,” Kaine admits, lazily dragging the marker around the page. “I don’t like it.” Peter and Ben give similar answers.

“Good job, thank you for telling me. Would they treat you differently because of that?”

“Sometimes.”

“But you still argue that Connors and Warren are good people. Would you think of us as good people if we started calling you a defect?”

Kaine growls, “No, but that’s irrelevant. The Doctors...they can say that stuff, you know? They have to be technical. For their papers and stuff.”

Sam tilts his head, “Bruce is a doctor too, is he allowed to call you a defect?”

“I-I don’t know,” the eldest stammers. “You’re making things complicated…”

They meet Morse again, and her questions are much better. She makes them sit in a semi-circle around her on the gym floor and sets out pictures and evidence baggies for them to look at. Thankfully, Mr. Stark is by their side, their protector, and beside him is a new woman who introduces herself as Natasha Romanov, another hero. Natasha compliments them on their banner and tells them ‘it’s the best piece of interior decor that Tony’s hung up in years.’ They know she’s lying, it looks like crap, but just seeing the offence on Tony’s face makes them immediately like this Natasha lady. 

Tapping a stave against the ground, Morse asks, “Do you know of any place Warren might go?”

Peter scoffs, “If you’re trying to find him, asking us isn’t going to help.”

“Kid, just humor me, okay? I’m covering all my bases here.”

Ben shrugs, “Uh, he got coffee from a place called Starbucks…?” 

“Great. Starbucks, that narrows it down. C’mon boys, what would he usually talk to you about? Gimme anything you got.”

“He’d usually talk about us,” Kaine says. “Our biology, our performance, our mutations, whatever. Sometimes he’d mumble about publications, but he never really talked about anything else.” 

“Did he show you off to anyone? Did he have besties he’d bring down to see you, maybe someone in these pictures?”

The spiders examine the photos laid before them. All are unfamiliar men and women in suits and ties, some sporting academic insignias or research institution logos.

“We don’t know any of these people, but we recognize these symbols from Doctor Warren’s mugs,” Ben answers, pointing to a picture of a bookworm-looking guy with an ESU lapel pin. “He only showed us off in research papers, he never brought people in to see us. He probably would’ve eventually, in order to get us employed.”

Morse nods. “Is that all you got? What about Connors, you think he’d run to that guy’s friends?”

Peter hums, “The Doctors argued over literally everything. If Connors’ friends are anything like him, I don’t think they’d get along. So, no.”

“Gotcha.” Morse scribbles notes down, giving the spiders the opportunity to paw through the rest of the photos. Ben reels back like he’s been burned when he finds a particular one -- a photo of them. The photo Connors had on his desk! Ben scoops it up. 

Morse stops writing and frowns at them. “You can’t keep it.”

“It’s of us,” Peter argues. “It’s our picture.”

“It’s _evidence_ ,” Morse retorts. “You want to help us convince a jury that Curtis and Miles are guilty of crimes against humanity? Put it back in it’s baggie and put it down.”

Mr. Stark interjects, walking over with his hands in his blazer pockets. “Hey, you have more than enough evidence already, what’s a picture to the shit-ton of records you pulled out of that place? Let them have their little picture.”

Peter and Kaine triumphantly grin at Morse. Ben sticks his tongue out at her and pockets the treasure.

Morse glares at Mr. Stark and grumbles, “Mother hen.”

The precious picture gets taped up in the hallway, in the middle of Morgan’s art gallery.

* * *

“Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump,” Morgan narrates, holding a plastic stethoscope to Peter’s chest. Peter rolls his eyes, slumped over the coffee table with his head propped up in his hands.

“Okay, heart sounds good. What about temperature?” She blaps the stethoscope against his forehead.

Peter murmurs, “That’s not how…”

“Shh!” Morgan closes her eyes. “You’re...ninety-nine degrees hot. And your thoughts sound like applesauce. I prescribe brain food.”

Peter scoffs and Morgan directs him to go sit with his brothers and a few stuffed animals who have also been diagnosed with ‘brain-mush’. He flops down on the couch between Kaine and a stuffed tiger. 

Morgan thinks she’s being clever by using it in her games, but they all know why she’s snuck up here after lunch again to force her least favorite foods onto them. Knowing the drill, Kaine hands him a slimy handful of cooked carrots. 

“Y’know,” Ben munches around a mouthful of lukewarm, slippery green beans. “These aren’t that bad, I dunno why you’re dumping them on us.”

“They’re gross! They’re slimy like worms and they taste funny.”

Ben shrugs, shoving the rest of his handful into his mouth. “Taste fine to me,” he chews.

“See, that’s another reason you guys are weird,” Morgan states matter-of-factly, standing in front of them with her hands on her hips. “I diagnose you with weirdness.”

“Sure,” Ben flatly says. Morgan hops up on the couch with them, knocking a few of her stuffed patients out of the way. 

“Arm please,” she asks. Ben holds out his arm and she wraps a toy blood pressure cuff around his bicep. She squeezes on the pump, and it spins the needle in the pressure gauge with a quiet rattle. “My dad worries about you a lot. He says if you’re too weird you won’t get adopted or something.”

Adoption. With the revelations surrounding Connors and Warren, the possibility is becoming much more real. 

“But my mom says being different isn’t so bad. There’s a girl in my preschool who grew a third arm over the summer and her parents still love her, so maybe the same will happen to you. Maybe your new mom or dad will like weird.”

“But!” Morgan adds before they can protest. “I think hissing at people is not the good kind of weird. And breaking stuff. And being messy.”

Peter licks mushy carrot off his fingertips. “We’re working on at least one of those things...” 

“Mm-hmm,” Morgan unlatches the cuff and mock-cries, “Your blood pressure’s through the roof, Ben!” 

“Oh nooo,” Ben faintly whines. “More brain food?”

“Nope, you need emergency surgery! Lay down sir!”

Ben plays dead on the couch as she swipes a plastic knife up and down his belly. Her game soon turns into fascination when she starts tracing actual surgical and wound scars with the dull utensil. Her expression turns confused, then mournful. Peter braces himself for the string of questions that never comes. 

Instead, Morgan kisses her hand and gently taps a particularly long, pale scar next to Ben’s navel. Her brows knit together, and she abruptly stands and sheds her doctor's coat and stethoscope, throwing both to the floor like they offended her.

Worried, Ben sits up and pulls down his shirt. The brothers watch as Morgan kicks her doctor stuff across the room and runs to dig around in her backpack for something. She reemerges with colorful, sparkly bands around her fingers and a unicorn hairbrush.

Morgan announces, “No more doctors, I’m a hair stylist now.”

* * *

After a day of touring colleges and grilling academics with Morse and Nat, Tony happily comes home to his wife, child, and three...foster kids? Is that what they are at this point? Who knows. 

He checks Karen’s feed before he takes up their dinner. They’re sleeping the day away in their blanket tent like they’ve been doing all day, but when he arrives minutes later, the boys don’t seem to have just woken up from a nap. There are no sleepy eyes blinking in the afternoon light, no mops of messy bedhead. In fact...

“Like the hairstyle, kid. You do it yourself?”

Kaine self-conciously paws at his neat french braid, and Ben winces as his elder brother yanks strange, sparkly hairties out of his blond hair. Huh, did Pepper leave a few for them sometime today? He’s about to ask when he spots Peter sitting off to the side, unsurprisingly messing with an RC car in his lap.

Like Sam had directed when correcting destructive behavior, Tony snaps his fingers and sternly says, “Hey, what’d we discuss, kiddo? Make not break --” 

A grunt of frustration freezes Tony in his tracks. Wait, Peter’s not breaking the car. The boy’s strong hands bend an axle back into shape.

The disciplinary tone hits home though, and Peter meekly looks up at him. "I'm not... I just thought, I broke it, so I should put it back together. Sorry." 

“Oh, uh, by all means fix away, kid,” Tony insists. “That's good. Really good. Good job, Peter.”

Peter nods in reply.

Tony settles into his pillow throne in the hallway, pulling a small project from a bag to work on as they eat. As soon as they’re finished, Peter goes back to fixing the busted toy. His brothers crowd around him, adding their own annoying sibling inputs until Peter snaps at them to find their own things to fix. 

Peter starts up that old game again, scooting closer to where Tony’s working whenever he’s not looking. Like so many times before, he asks the boy directly, “Pete, if you want to come watch me work, you’re more than welcome to, kid. I don’t bite.”

“I’m just trying to get closer to the heat blanket,” he lies. “I’m cold.”

“Oh yeah? Well don’t be all shy about it,” he gestures to the blanket spread out like a carpet at the very edge of the webline, laid there after Bruce found it was a good way to get them to stay by excluded adults. “Get comfy.”

Peter huffs and sits down on the blanket. They’re only five feet apart now, and Peter keeps sending curious glances his way. Drawn either by the warmth or the companionship, his brothers are by Peter’s side later with their own little projects, some more hopeless than others. They all work in relative silence, only punctuated by the siblings bickering between each other when they get stuck on a certain piece.

Tony takes a deep breath and decides to take initiative. The kids have warmed up to him a lot since attacking Sam (for reasons he still doesn't quite understand), so he’ll try his luck with this.

“Let’s just turn this into a bonafide knitting circle, shall we?” Tony grunts as he scoots over to the webline. He plops down an arms-length away from them, but they don’t hiss or back away. God, after nearly two and a half months he can finally _sit_ next to the boys. “Look at this, we’re like a few old grannies, fixing things together.”

Peter murmurs something cheeky under his breath, and his brothers smile widely down at their toys. 

“Pete, mind sharing for the class? We don’t all have super-ears.”

“I _said,_ ” Peter starts, smirking. “The only granny here is you, old man.”

Tony makes an offended noise. “Old man? Was that a joke I heard, did Peter just crack a joke?”

And just like that, the smiles melt from their faces like they expect to be reprimanded for making fun of him. Tony hams it up.

“Old man, huh? That’s it, your dinner tomorrow’s just going to be a plate of Wherther’s Originals and fruitcake. And afterwards, I'm gonna force you to watch The Andy Griffith Show until you’re whistling the theme in your sleep.”

Kaine makes a face. “We don’t know what any of those things are, Mr. Stark.”

“The fruitcake sounds good though,” Ben mumbles, smiling. 

The kids are in good spirits as they tinker away. Kaine gives up soon into the process, instead choosing to doodle away on a notepad. He’s working hard to draw the birds that flicker by the birdfeeder correctly, and it looks pretty good for a kid who’s been deprived of creativity. Ben and Peter eventually put their RC cars back together, and even though the cars ultimately won’t ever run again, the two boys seem proud of what they’ve accomplished.

Peter and Ben triumphantly lift their ‘fixed’ cars to the heavens, and Tony feels his heart swell, like he's watching Morgan learn to ride a bike or something. The boys’ quiet, shy laughter is light and cheery, like church bells.

_Would they smile up at the Doctors like this?_ The thought makes Tony’s stomach flip, those monsters didn’t deserve that trust, that affection. 

And they will never, ever deserve to see the absolute _wonder_ on the boys’ faces when they experience rain for the first time.

It starts out light. The teens freeze, momentarily confused at what’s dripping on them. Peter even swings back around to shoot a suspicious glare at Tony, as if he expects him to be holding a garden hose or something. Ben yelps when a droplet nails his eyeball. 

Seconds later, the sky opens up and releases a deluge. Bruce isn’t too happy, having to stand out in the pouring rain as the teens prance and roll around in the muddy, slippery grass. Morse jogs out to hand Bruce an umbrella, but it only covers his head and shoulders. 

Pepper strides up next to Tony with her own umbrella, watching the kids splash around in the rain. She tsks, “They’re going to catch a cold like that."

He’s about to reply when lightning streaks across the sky, its angry fingers illuminating the darkened clouds. And when the thunder cracks and booms, the boys freeze and cover their sensitive ears. This takes the wind completely out of their sails, and they stop running around to huddle with Bruce under the umbrella. 

Pepper makes them wipe the mud off their feet before coming back inside, and scolds them for shaking off the rainwater like wet puppies in the lobby. While they’re sent upstairs to take showers, she and Tony go make hot chocolate and cookies for them. A few minutes later, the couple finds the teens clean and shivering in the heated blanket by the webline.

Pepper takes a deep, harrowed breath when she passes by the evidence photo of the boys on the wall, the one that was on Connors’ desk. They’re so young in the picture, just little boys sitting around in matching black clothes and smiling up at the cameraman. Kaine’s fangs are big in his mouth, like he’s yet to grow into them, and there’s gauze wrapped around each of their elbows like they’d just all had blood drawn. There’s an additional pristine white bandage on the underside of Peter’s forearm, right over his silk gland.

Ben’s teeth chatter as he accepts the cookies and cocoa, “Thanks Mr. and Mrs. Stark.”

“Call me Pepper, sweetheart.” Like always, dropping the ‘sweetheart’ bomb makes them all blush bright pink, a fact that Pepper finds adorable and depressing. A painful reminder that they’ve never been doted on by a mother figure. 

Maybe that’s why it takes only a few coaxing words for Pepper to become totally trusted. From across the webline, she lovingly towel-dries and brushes out Kaine’s long hair as the teenagers munch away at the chocolate chip cookies. 

"It was like a shower, but, like, _everywhere,"_ Ben quietly recounts to them between big bites of cookie. "And it happens often?"

Pepper chuckles, "Pretty often. If you like rain so much, just wait 'til you see snow." Ben's eyes blow wide like she's just told him unicorns are real, and Tony has to hold back a laugh at the innocent joy on his face. Pepper combs her nails along the crown of Kaine’s head and cooes, “You have such pretty hair. Do you like it this long, baby?” Kaine’s cheeks pink and he shrugs.

After Kaine’s been thoroughly fluffed, Pepper moves on to Ben. The teen snorts and raises the heated blanket around his ears, but despite the fuss Ben clearly enjoys the attention. While she’s brushing him, Pepper side-eyes Tony and looks pointedly to Peter, who’s going un-pampered right in front of him. 

_“Ackk!”_ Peter startles when Tony plops the towel over his head. The boy ducks out from under it and scoots even closer to his brothers, shooting him a confused glare.

Pepper laughs, and Tony sits back on his heels with an awkward apology. The new proximity makes Peter a viable target for Pepper, and Tony’s definitely not jealous that Peter allows her to dry him off instead. As a final touch, Pepper leans over to plant a quick, sneaky kiss on the top of Ben’s head, and Ben squawks and dives under the blanket like an embarrassed son in front of friends. 

Preened to satisfaction, the two adults leave the boys in peace, letting them move over to the window to marvel at the rain pounding against the glass.

They make their way back to the common floor to find Steve, Clint and Sam babysitting Morgan in the living area. Morgan jumps up when she sees them, knocking the board game over with a clatter. 

“You’re back!” Morgan shouts. “How’d they like rain?”

Tony takes the empty mugs and dumps them in the sink. Pepper answers, “They like it a lot. I think it was like magic to them.”

Morgan lights up, leaping to stand on the couch. Steve yelps as her tiny shoes squash his hand into the cushion. “Are they asleep? Did you put them to bed?”

Tony leans on the kitchen counter, grinning. “No, but since they’re now watching said rain, I’d give them maybe fifteen minutes tops before they’re sailing off to dreamland."

“You should probably get ready for bed, too, sweetheart,” Pepper adds. Tony expects the fight, the routine _‘Nooo! Just five more minutes!’_ but that doesn’t happen. Morgan immediately scoops up the board game she was playing with the Avengers, ignoring the noise of displeasure as Clint’s game piece is yanked out of his hands. 

She runs for the hallway, shouting, “Okay! I’ll go to bed! Goodnight!”

Pepper and Tony look at each other, dumbfounded. Tony shrugs and makes himself a coffee. 

Pepper calls after her, “Remember to brush your teeth!”

* * *

Tony finishes his fifth coffee for the night when he finally decides to take a break. He rolls across the room to add the mug with the others, ordering Friday to turn the music down by half.

As soon as he can hear his thoughts again, he decides it’s a good idea to check on the boys. Their nightmares have been less frequent lately due to their use of the white noise, but it still hurts to see them twitch around when they do happen, knowing it's him they're scared of.

“Fri, pull up Karen’s feed.”

And there the boys are, all asleep in their web-hammock. Ben’s hanging nearly halfway out of the nest, eerily similar to how he was last night. Almost exactly the way he was last night. Huh.

Sixth coffee in hand, he saunters up a few floors to the family suite to clear his head. While there, he pokes his head into Morgan’s room. Yep, she’s there, but she’s left her bathroom light on. 

He quietly walks across the room, past the bed and flicks it off. On his way out, he decides to stop and brush back the hair of his sleeping child like all the best parents do in movies.

His hand finds the brown mane of her stuffed pony instead of Morgan. He pulls back the sheets. The bed is empty; a crude, Morgan-shaped lump made of stuffed animals and pillows lies in place of his daughter.

“Friday? Where is Morgan?”

The AI pauses for longer than usual. When she speaks, she sounds almost hesitant, reluctant. _“I’m sorry, I can’t answer that.”_

Tony stops. “What do you mean you can’t?”

_“Queen of the Castle protocol demands it. I’m sorry, Boss.”_

His brain screeches to a halt. Morgan’s protocol? “That’s still in use? Where’s Mo?” Something dreadful settles in his chest. “Is she with Bruce? Cap? Uh --”

_“No.”_

“Friday, damn it, override Alpha Six-One-Six, show me where she is.” Obediently and horrifyingly, she pulls up Karen’s feed on his Starkphone.

And the first thing that hits him is Morgan _screaming._

He tunnel-visions out, not bothering to check if it really is Morgan on the screen, he knows it's her, she’s with the boys and she’s -- _oh god._

He bursts out of her room and sprints down the hallway. “Dose them!”

_“Boss?”_

He screams, _“Dose them!”_

Tony nearly breaks his arms on the emergency staircase door as he barrels into it, forgoing the elevator like he did weeks ago during Sam’s attack. Oh god, if the boys have hurt Morgan he’ll -- he’ll really -- He’ll protect his baby girl with his life.

He explodes through the door into the boys’ hallway to see a nightmare come to life: Morgan runs towards him, crying and her hands covered in blood.

“Mo, Mo, where -- where did they hurt you? Where are you hurt?” He frantically lifts her shirt, inspects her arms and legs, turns her tear-stained face side-to-side, but finds nothing. No bitemark, no puncture, no bruise. Not even a scrape.

She pulls on him, pointing to the living room, her tiny hands leaving red smudges on his band t-shirt. Morgan chokes around a wet sob and cries,

“Something’s wrong with Peter…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Oh no, something's wrong with Peter!
> 
> For clarification, the Queen of the Castle protocols been looping/playing old footage whenever Morgan's around, dunno if that's obvious enough heheh ^^''
> 
> Here's a dumb lil drawing of the boys' baby picture! they're around maybe 6/7 in this (what is a child....a tiny anime?)
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> Kudos and comments ALWAYS appreciated! Love you all! 


	24. three minus one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's hurt, his brothers struggle to cope, and Tony swims in guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I ended up hating my first draft of this, so I went back and rewrote (which means ill have to rewrite the one after this again yeehaw) Also as soon as I finished my paleo abstract for svp (your gurls an scientific author babey!), I was sent to work on another project! Love trying to open CAT scans of chewed up turtle shells on my dinky laptop.....
> 
> Anyways, thanks for being so patient with me! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> [Content warning for two very non-graphic depictions of panic attacks, just in case anyone needs it.]

_“Somethings wrong with Peter…”_

  
  


Tony’s heart drops to his feet. “Morgan, wait here.”

The boys are paralyzed, splayed out around the space. A crude swing made of web dangles from the ceiling, and Tony spots many of Morgan’s dolls scattered on the floor, including the board game from earlier.

_Oh god, were they just…?_

He first sees Ben, slumped over on the couch. The boy’s eyes are wide, panicked, and when they lock gazes the kid tears up and makes an awful, frightened noise that barely carries over the sound of the rain outside. And when he comes closer, Ben squeezes his eyes shut and makes another terrified squeak like he expects Tony to attack him while he’s defenseless.

Kaine is close by, his body spilled halfway off the adjacent loveseat with his legs bent uncomfortably under him. Tony quickly helps him into a better position, ignoring the weak hissing and the venom drooling from his mouth. “It’s okay, kid. You’re okay.”

Kaine makes a mewling noise, and Tony follows his panicked eyes to a glimpse of pale flesh by the coffee table. It’s Peter. The boy’s sprawled out on the wood floor like he fell there, his body parallel with the table.

His eyes aren’t open, and there is a dark liquid pooling around his temple.

“Oh shit,” Tony gasps. He dives for the boy, shoving the table out of the way. The strangled noise the other two teens make as it screeches across the floor is lost on him.

“Oh god, Peter.” He gently pats the teen’s cheeks, begging him to open those big blue eyes. “C’mon, buddy.”

There are red smudges and handprints all around the boy’s face and pale blue shirt -- Morgan had been trying to get him up. His breath hitches when he realizes how terrified she must’ve been when they all collapsed for no apparent reason. 

He finally finds a pulse, strong and steady. Peter’s only unconscious.

“Morgan, what happened? Why were you screaming?”

His daughter wobbles back out into the living room. “We were swinging! I was going really, _really_ high so P-Peter and Kay were keeping me from hitting the ceiling, and then they all just fell d-down and Peter hit his head on the table and won’t wake up! I don’t know what happened, I’m sorry!”

_Oh god, they were only playing! Oh god!_

Tony looks down at the unconscious, bleeding boy in his arms. _Oh god, he did this._ He might as well have come up here and hit Peter himself. They wouldn't hurt -- They would _never_ hurt --

“Karen? I-Is that true?”

_“...Miss Morgan is correct.”_ She knows what he’s about to ask next. _“Scans indicate that Peter has suffered a non-life threatening head injury, but I am unable to assess the likelihood of brain or spinal damage. I recommend medical assistance.”_

“Shit,” Tony mutters. “Shit, shit, shit.” He scoops up Peter in a bridal carry, careful to keep the boy’s head steady.

Peter’s brothers follow their injured sibling as they leave with panicked eyes, and they make haunted, whining noises out of their paralyzed throats. It sounds like ghostly screaming. He feels the limp boy in his arms oozing blood onto his favorite MIT shirt and taking tiny, puffed breaths against his collarbone. 

Morgan whimpers in the elevator, “We were playing, we were just playing…”

He fucked up.

* * *

Tony sprints down the hallway as fast as he dares without shaking Peter too much. “I got you kid. Don’t worry,” he reflexively comforts the boy who can't hear him. Morgan struggles to keep up as they make their way to the medbay floor.

Bruce is understandably surprised when they barrel through his lab doors at this time of night. “Tony? What -- Is that Peter?”

“Bruce, I fucked up. I messed up. Please help him.”

Bruce jumps up out of his seat, “What do you need me to do? What happened?”

“I-I hurt him, Bruce,” Tony pants. “I dosed him without thinking and he hit his head. He’s bleeding bad. God, I -- ”

Bruce nods, “Okay, okay, let me take him.” Peter is slid into the crook of one giant arm, and _god,_ he looks dead. Slick blood coats one side of his slack-jawed face. Tony picks up Morgan and follows Bruce to the medbay proper.

As Bruce gets to work, Tony places Morgan on a table and helps wipe the blood _(Peter’s blood)_ from her hands and tear-stained face. 

Morgan cries, worried she did something wrong, and Tony assures her of the exact opposite. This is _his_ fault, _his_ failure, not Morgan’s. She admits to him that this is not the first time she’s met them, she’s been trying to teach them how to play for a week now. A week!

“Tony,” Bruce cuts in from where he’s checking Peter for further injury. “Peter’s going to be fine, it’s just a pretty bad concussion. There’s no damage to his neck, and the gash on his head is fairly shallow, head wounds just tend to bleed a lot. Given what we know of his healing, I’m just going to bandage it closed, no stitches needed.”

Okay. He hasn’t robbed Ben and Kaine of a sibling. Tony helps remove Peter's bloodstained shirt and tuck him into the covers, making sure they use the warmest blankets. 

Morgan sits in Bruce’s lap and rattles off about her previous visits, while Tony finds himself staring impatiently at the boy on the cot. He drags his hands down his face. “How...How long will he be out?”

“I don’t know. Could be a few hours to a day at most,” Bruce answers. “In the meantime, how are his brothers?”

And that’s when realization hits. God, he just separated them, didn’t he? How are his siblings doing?

Poorly, is the answer. Ben and Kaine are shell-shocked, gingerly examining the puddle of Peter’s blood, and when he reappears without their missing sibling they start exhibiting signs of panic. The pair hyperventilate behind the couch, hiding from him.

“Where’s Pete?” Kaine weakly calls out to him, his voice barely carrying over the pattering of the night’s rain, rain they were all happily playing in only hours earlier. “Where’d you take Peter?”

“Peter’s in the medbay downstairs. He’s fine and being well taken care of,” Tony soothes. "God, kid --”

Ben pleads, “Please don’t hurt us, we’re sorry for playing with your daughter without permission!”

“N-No, wait --” Tony starts, only to be cut off as the pair suddenly scrambles over the couch to bow at his feet.

Kaine begs into the floor, “We meant no harm to your daughter! We’re so sorry!”

Ben cries out, “We won’t bother her ever again, Mr. Stark!”

“Hey, zip it!” The kids promptly shut up and continue shaking at his feet. He kicks himself for his tone. 

“I - I’m sorry for dosing you, there’s no excuse for it. It’s all my fault, okay? All my fault. I'm not going to hurt you.” He bends down to pat Ben reassuringly, heart clenching at the way the kid flinches away from his touch. “Can you look at me for a second? Quit bowing.”

The teens immediately sit up. Their eyes are glassy in the dim lighting.

“I love that Morgan’s been playing with you,” Tony stresses. “It’s great. It’s more than great, it’s _fantastic._ She obviously loves you a lot. And I knew, I _knew_ you guys wouldn’t hurt her, but I just -- I freaked out, okay? I thought about the whole thing with Sam and I... Shit, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Tony sits down, tangling one hand in his hair. “I didn’t mean for Peter to get hurt.”

“We won’t bother your daughter again, Mr. Stark,” Ben repeats.

“No, you’re not listening to me!” Tony snaps and the kids’ shoulders curl. “It’s great that she’s been up here to keep you company. I don’t want that to end over...over this.”

The teens manage to give a shaky nod. Ben makes the mistake of looking down at his bloodstained fingers and his breath starts to come out in short puffs. Panic attack. 

“Shit,” Tony scoots forward. “Okay, we’re panicking. C’mere.”

Ben jerks away from him with a shout and buries himself in Kaine’s embrace. Kaine holds him tight, shaking like a leaf and eyes fixated on the middle-distance. 

“C’mon, you both gotta take slower breaths. In four seconds, out four seconds, do it with me, alright? In four, out four.” His knees are on the hallway webline and his arms hover uselessly out in front of him, unsure of what to do. “In four, out four. I’m gonna touch you, okay?”

Ben tenses when Tony smooths a hand down his spine. “In four, out four,” he soothes. Tony uses his other hand to rub gentle circles into Kaine’s shoulder.

He coaches them until they’re relatively stable, then snatches a damp cloth and wipes the living room down, returning back to his designated area as soon as the blood and Morgan’s toys are cleaned away. They’re nearly catatonic, allowing Tony to pry their arms away from each other one by one to clean the blood _(Peter’s blood, their brother’s blood)_ off their fingers. 

Kaine quietly asks, “You’re not mad?” 

Tony sighs, long and ragged, “No, of course not. You didn’t do anything. This is all on me, I was the one who fucked up.”

A violent tremble shakes the pair. “When will we see Peter again?”

Tony briefly debates pulling up a live feed from the medbay, but seeing Peter so still might send them over the edge again. He swallows, “Soon, I promise.”

* * *

‘Soon’ can’t come soon enough. Morse swings by to check if this was an attack and log the incident in her reports to Fury, and Peter sleeps the rest of the night dutifully watched over by Bruce and Tony, both of whom got about just as much sleep as the boys upstairs. Karen reported that Ben and Kaine didn’t sleep at all last night, resorting to pacing by the elevator doors like stressed animals, and they refused to eat breakfast this morning. Total emotional shut down.

“I think I’ve ruined it, Sam,” Tony laments as they bring back two plates of unwanted waffles to the lower floors. “My one job here is to help the kids, and I can’t even do that.”

“I don’t think it’s you,” Sam says. “I think they have separation anxiety. That would explain their panic attack and why they don’t want to eat.”

“Separation anxiety,” Tony acknowledges. That sounds right, given their history. “God, I’m such an asshole. I thought the worst of them without any evidence.”

“You thought you heard screaming,” Sam reasons. “You’re a dad, you’re gonna react that way when it comes to Morgan.”

“But I should’ve known that if Morgan was in actual danger, the Queen of the Castle protocol would have been overridden. Friday isn’t programmed to hide that shit from me,” Tony groans. 

Sam takes his plate from him. “Hey, I know it sucks, but don’t beat yourself up about it. Just be glad everyone’s okay.”

After Sam gifts the uneaten waffles to Steve and Barnes, they take Ben and Kaine to the gym to let them burn off any anxious energy, but once there the two teens don’t do anything but sit tangled together on the gym mat. Ben’s hand is twisted in Kaine’s shirt like he’s afraid his brother will disappear if he lets go; a childish form of comfort-seeking behavior that belies how shaken they are by the situation. 

As a last ditch effort to get some lunch into them, Tony holds the apple slice up to Kaine’s mouth. “C’mon kid, not even a bite? It’s honeycrisp.”

Kaine scowls and curls closer to his brother. “I told you, we’re not hungry. Stop trying to feed me like a baby.”

The two teens even refuse to draw out their anxieties on paper. At a loss, the two men retreat to the gym closet to find something, anything that could capture their attention and distract them from Peter’s absence.

Nothing works. Pepper even comes down on her lunch break to try and break the kids out of their shells, but it's a futile effort. All the teens want to do is hold each other. Tony finds himself revisiting that old security footage video he got from SHIELD, the one from the lab where Kaine and Peter wait tangled together just like this for Ben to come back fresh from the operating table.

They enlist the help of Bruce and take them outside next. Morgan comes bounding out with them, trying to cheer the pair up with squirtguns and puppet shows, but the boys are like statues. They cower away from her attempts at play, eventually retreating to go sit quietly by Bruce in the damp grass. Just watching pulls at some thread of despair in his heart, and he excuses himself to go check on Peter.

He sits by the boy’s cot, lazily carding a hand through Peter's curly brown hair and idly staring at his phone to get his mind off things. His hand goes for another caress, but someone’s breath hitches and there’s a pushback on his palm.

Tony’s eyes snap up as the kid leans into his touch with closed eyes.

The billionaire pets the boy’s hair eagerly. “Hey, Pete. Oh thank god, kid --”

Peter’s nose twitches and he sleepily hums, “C’nnors…?”

Tony’s hand stills, but Peter still chases the contact. He strokes his hair a few more times. “N-No, kid. No Connors.”

The smile melts from Peter’s relaxed face, and confusion sets in. “...Stark?” His baby blue eyes start to blink open, and then widen to saucers.

Peter lurches upright on the cot, palming at his chest and stomach. The kid makes a queasy noise at the sudden shift in position and topples over the opposite side, flumping to the floor in a heap of cream-colored blankets with a strangled cry.

Tony springs out of his chair. “Pete?”

“Nngh, Mr. Stark -- please!” Peter babbles incoherently. He’s tangled in the blankets, ripping the seams as he desperately tries to free himself. Tony grabs a blanket to yank it loose, but Peter thrashes and cries out, terrified.

Peter tears free and scoots to the far corner of the medbay. The boy's eyes dart around the room, panic swallowing him up as he realizes it’s only Tony in the room with him.

“W-Where are my brothers? What did you do to them?”

Tony approaches him slowly, like one would a feral cat. “Ben and Kaine are outside with Morgan. Are you okay?”

Peter hisses, kicking out at Tony. “She came to us! I-I-I know we should have told you! But we never hurt your daughter, so please don’t -- ! _Please don’t -- !”_ The kid looks like he’s prepared to take the beating of his life, arms and knees protecting his belly and chin tucked toward his chest. Tony’s heart sinks in guilt, drowning in it.

“Are you sore? I...You fell and hit your head. It knocked you unconscious for a day, kiddo.”

Peter fingers the bandage on his forehead and whines between too-quick breaths, “M-My head hurts…”

“On it. Sit tight, kid.” Tony fumbles around a few metal drawers for a pain pill and a water bottle. Peter eagerly snatches them away and downs the pill in a few gulps. Afterwards, Peter tries to stand, mumbling about his brothers, but he’s wobbly. When Tony reaches out to help him up, Peter sinks back down to the floor and whimpers.

Peter shakes and gasps, “ _Please…_ I-I don’t remember what happened.”

“Hey, it's okay. Slow breaths, Pete.” Tony scoots forward, tentatively resting his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “In four seconds, out four seconds. Alright? C’mon, do it with me.”

“I w-w-want to see my…” Peter tries to follow along with ragged gasps. “Did...Did you hurt me, Mr. Stark?”

And if that doesn’t spear right through his heart. Crushes it into a fine dust that chokes his lungs. 

Peter yelps as Tony pulls him into a tight hug. The teen squirms and Tony feels deceivingly strong hands coming to rest on his chest, ready to shove him off or break a rib. He wouldn’t even blame the kid if he punched a hole through his sternum.

“I’m so, so sorry, Peter,” Tony breathes into Peter’s fluffy, coconut-scented hair. He smooths his hands up and down the teen’s spine, showing his intent to comfort, not hurt. Never hurt.

* * *

Peter tenses as Mr. Stark dives for him. _Oh god!_ He can’t fight back, he’ll be sent away! His head pounds as arms surround him, and Peter’s mouth hovers open and primed, ready to deliver a warning bite right over Mr. Stark’s shoulder. But the arms don’t start to squeeze or strangle. 

“I’m so, so sorry, Peter,” Mr. Stark apologizes into his hair. Warm hands like burning brands rub gentle circles into his back. 

A hug. Mr. Stark’s hugging him.

“Wh-Why are you sorry?”

Mr. Stark recounts what happened. All Peter remembers is being on the ceiling, watching Ben push a squealing Morgan higher and higher on the web-swing and then nothing. Apparently Mr. Stark found out and dosed them all in a fit of fatherly panic, and he banged his head on the corner of the coffee table as he fell.

Peter smells salt. Mr. Stark’s apologizing, holding him crushingly close. Slowly, Peter relaxes in the hug, melts into it. It...feels nice. Really nice. Can he get more of these? Oh man, he must have hit his head harder than he thought.

Underneath the warmth blooming in his chest, something tugs at him, painful and confusing. The...The Doctors have never done this. When they got hurt, they’d simply patch them up, shuffle them back into their enclosure and toss a few extra mango smoothies in with their dinner, but they never _cried_ over them. Mr. Stark’s reaction to finding them with Morgan sounds perfectly reasonable, so why’s he crying over that choice? Peter knows that if Doctor Connors had to choose between the spiders and Billy, he’d always choose Billy. Offspring over Subject, this is no different.

Mr. Stark doesn’t pull away until he’s completely composed himself. “Your brothers have been worried sick about you. Let’s go reunite the three musketeers, shall we?”

* * *

Peter stares at him oddly as he removes his bandage. The kid’s not terrified anymore, thank god, but is clearly anxious to see his siblings again. Tony feels the same way. Peter’s legs swing back and forth on the cot and his hands ball up around nothing like they’re aching for a sibling to cling onto. The billionaire quickly helps him into a harness.

They’re all still out on the front lawn. Morgan’s playing in the grass with Steve, who must've joined the party while he was with Peter. The two catatonic boys are still slumped in the grass in front of Bruce.

Ben and Kaine perk up when they spot Peter out on the concrete patio, and Tony barely has the door closed when Peter suddenly takes off across the lawn, leaving him in the dust with nothing but a mild case of ropeburn.

His siblings do the same, and Bruce is pulled right off his ass and through the grass as the teens barrel into each other, spinning around and tangling themselves in the harness cords like they’d been apart for weeks.

Morgan happily greets Peter too. She runs away from Steve and tries to squeeze between the reunited boy’s legs to join in on their hug, and at the sight of her Peter flinches back and glances at Tony like he expects the wrath of an angry father to pummel down upon him, and god, doesn’t that hurt. 

Tony walks across the grass, rubbing his sore hands. “Kid, please don’t be afraid of Morgan. I’ll never be mad at you for existing around her. Just...please.”

The teen’s face softens, and they all sink down so Morgan can crush Peter’s neck in a hug and place a lopsided daisy crown on his head. Peter seems mystified with the gift, but enjoys the attention she and his brothers are pouring over him. Especially his brothers. 

Peter laughs into Ben’s shirt, “How long was I gone?”

“Too long,” Ben nuzzles.

“Only a day,” Kaine corrects with a smile.

His heart clenches when he realizes his carelessness could have destroyed this little family. Peter’s neck could’ve snapped, Kaine could have landed on the furniture oddly and broken a rib -- so many awful outcomes that by some divine mercy didn’t happen. He feels nauseous just thinking about it.

Like flipping a switch, everyone demands to be fed. Treated to a picnic dinner, the reunited boys devour everything on the blanket, their mutant appetites begging to catch up to a day’s worth of missed meals. Morgan eats beside them, and although she barely gets any snacks before they're all snapped up, she doesn’t seem to mind. 

Sleepy and ready to drop into a food coma at any second, the boys are taken back to their floor. Morgan begs and begs to go with them, but everyone agrees that it’s best to let the three simply enjoy being together again tonight without the added distractions of a sleepover.

Peter is smothered with love as his brothers wrestle him into a blanket pile by the window. He protests weakly, he has a monster of a headache after all, but smiles under Ben’s weight, forcing him to accept he’s gonna be the pillow they all cuddle up to tonight, not Kaine. 

Lingering long after everyone else has said their goodbyes, Tony plugs their heat blanket in for them. “Here you go, all set.”

Kaine bounds over and takes it, chirping a polite, “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“Are...Are you three okay?”

Kaine pauses in his task of rearranging the heat blanket to regard him with curious eyes. “As okay as we’ll ever be, Mr. Stark.”

“You know it’s okay to hate me, right? I’d understand. I almost took a brother from you.”

Every one of them is staring at him now. Peter raises up on his elbows with Ben's arms slung around his neck. Kaine considers his words before saying, “...We don’t hate you. We didn’t _enjoy_ what happened but we don’t blame you for it. We understand your choice, and you brought Peter back to us, so…”

“My choice got Peter hurt. My choice had you begging not to be beat on for _playing,”_ Tony stresses. “That’s all on me, kid. I’m supposed to be the one helping you, not…”

The teenagers all shift their gazes uncomfortably away. With an innocent look in his green eyes, Kaine tries to reassure him, “We _can’t_ blame you, Mr. Stark, because we know if he was in your shoes, Doctor Connors would have done the same thing.”

  
  


Tony drinks for the first time in a while that night.

  
  


Being compared to the Doctors is a wake-up call. He needs to do better, _be_ better for the kids. He’s gotta make it up to them, hopefully earning first slot on their ‘Favorite People’ list in the process. 

He gives them dessert for breakfast, new toys (“Legos, you can build things with these, and break them back into little bits after you're done,” Tony explains, willingly letting their whole floor become a deathtrap of tiny plastic.), and lots and lots of outside time. 

Small glass of scotch in hand, he watches Morgan run circles around the boys on the lawn from a cushy patio chair. Bruce has parked himself on the grass, reading a book in one hand and holding the boys’ leads in the other -- essentially nailing the three kids to a ten foot radius around the giant. It used to make him proud, seeing them out and about in the sun, but now the black harnesses around their upper chests make him twinge with guilt.

He takes another sip. 

Morgan’s demonstrating how to make grass whistles with the boys as her enraptured audience. Wincing, Bruce eventually asks for the high-pitched chorus next to him to stop, and Morgan happily starts another game. She’s free to run and throw her toys around while the teenagers on the leashes aren’t awarded the same freedom. A cage of another kind, imposed there by Tony himself.

_“The Doctors would have done the same thing…”_

He needs to do better.

Even from far out in the lawn, he can see the boys wistfully regard the forest at the edge of the property, with trees taller than the short decorative ones on the lawn and with branches perfect for swinging. It’s a beautiful, sunny day, and the spiderboys gaze toward the treetops.

Tony gazes with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> free my boys
> 
> Next chapter: Tony does better, the word of the day is trust, and a final fracture starts in the spiderkids
> 
> My original draft had a whole scene where Morgan kidnaps Ben and Kaine and takes them to see Peter, and it was really fun to write BUT I couldn't come up with a good reason that the kids couldn't just...stay with Peter after getting caught in the medbay without making Tony/Sam/Bruce look like a jerk. I swear I tried to fit it lol. Alas, what could've been...
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking with me, we're on the downhill slope! All kudos/bookmarks/comments are infinitely appreciated and cherished forever!! <333

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/criticisms/questions appreciated! Kudos make the world go 'round! Thanks!!
> 
> [Nowhere, Nowhen spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5U8G1HYDEMVdKOcgKoigBa?si=XpksL-7mT8ORIlfBV2ycnQ)


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